Confession: I Didn’t Want a Puppy

A couple of years ago, when  I started yearning again for a dog, I wanted just that; a dog.  I didn’t want a puppy.  Never wanted to go through all that you go through with a puppy.  The plan, in my mind, was to rescue an adult dog and even possibly an Elderbull.  We’re busy and we have been able to take full advantage of the liberties allowed with cat ownership.  Cats are as self-sufficient as their lack of opposable thumbs allow.  They can usually self-feed withouth gorging themselves with the avaliblity of food and pretty much come out of the womb knowing how to use the litter box.  At least that was the case with my three geniuses.

Yesterday was especially stressful.  We have just re-listed our house in the hopes of moving up closer to work and into a great place with an in-ground pool so our realtor is sending a photographer to take some shots for the home listing TV show.  Very exciting, apart from the fact that we’ll need to move crates, cats and a puppy from room to room.  I did have the foresight to start dinner in a crock pot but that seemed to be the only thing on the ball.  We had a funeral visitation to attend after work and a house to stage for pictures.  And a puppy to care for.  A puppy who needed food, water, pottie breaks, play time and snuggle time.  It was a lot.  I understand the young and playfulness.  I get the gnawing and chewing and the constant need to correct and redirect.  It just gets to be a lot sometimes. 

I wouldn’t trade the little bugger for the world and I love him to pieces.  I spend an inordinant amount of time at work thinking about him and wishing I was back home with him…but there are those days (already) when I can hardly wait until he is older.

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