Well, happy "birthday" Sasha. Whatever made you choose our doorstep that cold, rainy morning, we'll never know. But even I have to admit, you have fit in pretty well here. I like you more now that you don't poop inside and chew on stuff that doesn't belong to you. I don't like to have to canvass the yard for poo before anyone goes outside to play. I don't like that you require a bath every week because you get inexplicably rank. I do like it when you curl up next to me (or, as you really prefer, ON me) when everyone is asleep and you seem to embody contentment.
I think it is pretty hysterical when you have what Harper refers to as your Reaction--sprinting through the house in concentric circles like a Dog on Fire. I think it's kind of sweet, albeit really loud, pitiful, and annoying, when you howl after we put you in your kennel and you can hear us outside getting in the car, leaving you behind. They almost sounds like words, those plaintive howls. The husband claims you started doing that when we started letting you sleep in our bed. Maybe he's right. Now that you have tasted of communion, you can't stand the pain of separation. Dogs are good for metaphors, after all.
So, little dog who was uninvited to the party, we'll keep you, I guess.
1 comment:
You've already had her a year??? Are you kidding? If asked, I would have said you'd had her oh, six weeks, maybe eight.
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