Day 7: Call The Police

I adopted a 6 month old puppy and I am an committed hater of puppies. Don’t get me wrong; I adore other people’s puppies. But do I long for one of my own? Nope. Not even a little bit. Puppies are worse than human babies and I’m not a fan of them either. I broke my No Puppies vow, however, when I was arrested by the sight of a Little Black Puppy with a wonky paw being fostered by a Facebook friend. Her floppy paw, her soulful eyes, her donkey sized ears… Long story short I was besotted. Smitten. Done for. I have learned when that happens, it’s magic. It’s chemistry. Honor it or regret it for the rest of your days.

So how’s it going?

This afternoon, after a miles long romp in the woods and plenty of indoor harassment by the rest of the pack, I took her and the rest of the gang outside to play while I stacked firewood. The puppy engaged in digging in the dirt (excellent work out for the wonky paw). Great. Then she commenced to eat the dirt. And rocks. And leaves. And sticks. When Peeka threw up, she ate that. My firewood stacking became a dive-grab-remove detritus-get mauled by puppy teeth-insert appropriate plaything extravaganza. I invented a new sport. And I think I could become a serious competitor because I have an amazing puppy coach.

At one point, she was chewing away on a mouthful of pebbles and dirt and probably some tiny frogs, crickets, bugs and what was left of a deceased shrew she found the other day, and I got a touch too close during the removal. “Bindi, YUCKY! Leave it!” I commanded. She pounced on me, depositing everything she had in her mouth in my face… my eyes, lips, and mouth instantly smeared and gritty and full of godknowswhat.

I pawed at my eyes and started spitting. That got Peeka (the reactive dog) very interested in what was happening so she ambled over and stood threateningly over baby Bindi while I tried not to puke. Meanwhile Brody, the other reactive dog, is shrieking at the top of his lungs at a stick he has cornered down by the pond. He sounds like a maniacal machine gun crossed with a lovesick coyote being strangled. Hawkitt just keeps throwing a ball at my feet. Like no matter what else is happening, we’re playing fetch. Come the apocalypse, Hawk will be tossing a ball at Satan’s feet, I have no doubt.

Somehow I got the wood stacked, without killing any dogs. I can still see out of both (gritty) eyes. I gave up and handed out beef neck bones. That’s the equivalent of sitting a toddler down in front of the TV. I’m gonna have a beer before I attempt to do anything else today.

I hate puppies.

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