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My household and my life have been up-heaved.
Is it because I am facing immenent unemployment with no idea what to do next?  Is it because my youngest daughter quit her job without notice, so is down to working ten hours a week at one job and has no references?  Is it because the oldest daughter had ended a long term relationship and is moving out on her own and is six hours away from home?

Nope.  None of that is what’s keeping me up nights, causing me to miss my afternoon nap and generally turning my routine inside out.  No, we got a puppy.

I’ve had dogs since the day I was born and all my life long except for the last two years.  I’ve been wanting to get a dog again and The Man keeps saying no. My first dog was a young black lab mix named Dinger.  He was my constant companion and babysitter when I was a toddler.  After him there were many many dogs, but I am sure he is the reason I am partial to big dogs. Big or small though, I’ve loved them all.

For one reason or another, most of my adult life, my dogs have come to me full grown and so I’ve forgotten about puppies.  The last puppy I had was twenty two years ago.  My son was six weeks old and I took him to town for his checkup and brought along home a six week old black lab/golden retriever pup.   There I was.  Twenty two years old, trying to potty train a two year old daughter who was hell on wheels, trying to house train a hyper Lab pup and with a special needs baby.  That portion of my life is somewhat of a blur, but I remember trying to clean lots of assorted messed out of orange shag carpet.

Fast forward to now when The Man and I are empty nesters who’ve been without the love of a dog for two years.  Youngest daughter texts and says her employer is giving away mastiff cross puppies and send a picture.  Now who can resist a picture of a puppy?  And The Man has always wanted a mastiff.  Gracie brings us a puppy and we are both instantly smitten.

But goodness, I’d forgotten about puppies.  I’ve been up at three with the baby, I’ve been up at five, I’ve gone and bought special food because giant breeds have special nurtrition needs.  I’ve missed out on afternoon naps and generally had my daily schedule demolished.  No dog has slept in my bed since my Tigerdog was run over twenty three years ago (just before the last puppy).  I don’t like dog hair in my bed, nor all the dust and junk they bring in on their coat and I have let this little bundle of fur sleep with me any time she wants to.  My ankles, my furniture, my teddy bear, my knitting and the end of my braid all bear the marks of little razor sharp baby teeth.  My livingroom is littered with every chew toy ever invented that The Man has brought home for her.  I’ve cleaned up poop and pee without swearing.  I’ve dragged myself out of bed at 2 am because she needed to go out and then stayed up an hour to play because she wasn’t sleepy.  I’ve even took her to the cow doctor for puppy shots at the proper time.

Then Wednesday I took our little Sage on her first outing to the post office. She’d already met Marty and Molly from down the street, but she met a lot of new people.  One of those people asked me if she was going to be a house dog.  Around here, most dogs are not.  They are farm dogs and that’s the way it is.  And Marty laughed and said, “Oh she’s already pretty spoiled.”  And I found myself blushing and saying, “We‘re turning into that crazy middle aged couple of empty nesters who start treating their dog like a kid.”

And it’s true.  We are turning into those people.  And I don’t care.

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