Begging like a Dog
But I am now using my blog as a valuable tool in my therapy to regain normalcy. (Snort, if that is even possible.) You see, dear internet, in my quest to heal my family I am putting my love of a clean house aside, and bringing in a four legged critter. Something I swore I would never do when we moved into our new home. But rules be damned, this is an emergency. And the only medicine that will work is that of a slobbering, puppy-breath, pee all-over and shed everywhere kind.
So in two weeks, I will bring home our newest family member. He will be an eight week old bundle of blissful puppy exuberance. And I will be, no doubt, bleary eyed while moaning and bitching about the little dude.
But that is in the future, so for now I will focus on my excitement and my kidlet's excitement. Back to using you, dear internet, as my valuable tool. You see, my family has been torn asunder in our effort to name the little guy. My daughter likes Spot and my son insists on Freckles. Me, I gag each time I think about their name preferences. Makes me wonder what my future grandchildren will be saddled with.
The hubs is indifferent. He is offended that I chose a rat for a pet instead of a real man's dog, like say, a Great Dane. But I don't want to be picking up turds that are bigger than my own and I would prefer to spend my grocery money on well, groceries, instead of dog food to feed a monster-truck sized animal. (Although, I admit to finding Great Danes awfully cute.)
So I present to you pictures of as-of-yet unnamed pupster, and a picture of what the dude will look like when he is all grown up. Put your thinking hats on people, and please, do better than Spot and Freckles. My sanity depends on it.
P.S. That snazzy blanket, it ain't mine. I may call myself a Redneck, but I do have taste. And eyes. Which prefer not to be blinded. Just so you know.