Life with a new
puppy is really a lot like life with a new baby. I'm not altogether certain I
was completely aware of that fact before we got the puppy. Having said that,
however, I can tell you that I'm really pleased with how it's all working out so
far.
Tuffy—named by
my husband, and short for "tough guy"—really is a bit of a tough guy, lately.
He's become very protective of his family. If there is a sound he doesn't
recognize, or if he is startled, he sets to growling, and sometimes even
barking. Not only that, he gets all puffed up (his fur actually stands on end)
and he places himself between us and whatever monsters may be about to break
down the door.
This little, not
quite three-pound creature of mostly fluffy fur truly has the heart of a
lion.
He's also very
adaptable, and he likes his routine. This is a blessing for me, because the one
thing I was worried about was that being home with the little guy every day
while my beloved headed off to work would infringe on my writing
time.
So far, that's
not happening. Yes, I know. I crossed my fingers and knocked on wood as I wrote
that.
Tuffy gets up
for the first time at 4:15 a.m. when the alarm goes off. He is happily scooped
from his play pen on wheels that is in our bedroom over night—no mere `crate'
for this little guy—and he lays on the sofa with my husband until 4:45 a.m. Then
it's time for breakfast and a bit of a play while his daddy gets ready for work.
Sometimes, if my daughter doesn't have any clients first thing in the morning
after dropping off her dad, she'll bring one or more of her puppies with her
when she comes to pick him up. So that gives the tough guy a few minutes of
romping play with one or two of his buddies, as well.
While all this
is happening, I am completely oblivious, because I am still in bed, asleep. Then
when my beloved leaves for work, he puts Tuffy back into his playpen. The little
guy settles right down and goes back to sleep. Rarely does he wake me before I
get up, which is around 8:15.
We greet the day
together in lazy fashion, play, and generally wake up. But that's fine, because
after two hours, tops, he's dropping off to sleep again. I move his play pen out
of the bedroom, into the living room, and he settles down, in his safe place,
with his chew bars and squeaky toys and his little house. He sleeps on
that house as often as he sleeps in it.
I made it clear
to my beloved, when we got this new family member, that I would be happy to
baby sit for him while he was at work. Yes, I stressed those two words,
baby sit. Because we had been in agreement for the last several years that once
our old puppy left us, there would be no more dogs as we've had somewhere in the
neighborhood of 15 in our lives together.
In truth, it was
David who was the most adamant about this, and I, over time, matched his
intensity of dedication to this dictum.
However, neither
of us had taken into consideration how much he had invested, emotionally, in
that old dog. Nor were either of us prepared for the loneliness that he would
experience once his beloved Rochie dog passed on.
So it really
didn't take much arm twisting for my daughter to "talk me into" getting this
puppy for her father. On the weekends, the two are inseparable. I refer to them
as "Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy". I love the puppy too, of course. But mostly,
he's his daddy's dog.
My brother was
quite surprised and not at all pleased when he found out about the new addition
to the family. Pets have never been particularly important to him. He said,
"Well, hell, I thought you were going to be done with animals. Now look what
you've done! You're stuck with a puppy!"
I just shrugged.
And I told him the truth.
My husband is
happy, really happy with his new best friend. In light of that reality,
nothing else really matters.
Love,
Morgan
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