You’d think puppies wouldn’t have anything to do with writing, but oh, they do. We got a puppy in October. She’s now about 4 1/2 months old…a chocolate lab named Dorrie. We named her after Dorrie, the little witch, a beloved character in the books that I used to read when I was a kid, and from Anaedora, her first name. Her full title is Anaedora Deogee (DOG). How does she relate to writing? She is very good at keeping me from it. Since getting her, she has definitely made her mark on our family – in more ways than one.
So, to my list: You know you have a puppy when…
1) Your clothes have more holes in them than Swiss cheese.
2) Your white carpeting is now polka-dotted yellow and brown and your hardwood floor is covered with muddy footprints that look surprisingly wolf-like.
4) You end up chasing her because she got away from you and ran into the road, and there sitting and watching you looking like an idiot as you try to catch your mad puppy, are the local police.
5) Your hands have tiny little scratches all over them and a few dents, as well, because she’s teething and decides gnawing your hand helps alleviate the pain.
6) You have to warn your children about yellow snow and how it’s not from someone spilling lemonade.
7) Your lawn is littered with potholes.
8) You have to shovel out a play area in the snow or come out with an umbrella in the rain, which she finds icky even though she’s supposed to be a water dog, all so she won’t pee on the porch.
9) You start referring to yourself as her mommy or daddy.
11) Taking your dog for a walk on the leash has become the new aerobics.
12) You are able to blame certain odors on her.
13) Your mother keeps feeding her treats even when you’ve asked her not to.
14) The reaction her little puppy stomach has to those treats is what causes those certain odors.
16) Your mouse doesn’t work because she chewed through the wire.
17) The tiny Christmas figures that populated your sweet, little Christmas village are all headless and the conductor has no arms.
18) You love her despite your vows to send her back to where she came from after she either poops under the piano yet again (because she knows it’s raining outside) or gets dog slobber all over your underwear that you were going to change into after your shower, but she somehow managed to find on your medievally high bed.
Okay, I admit that I love my dog, though I’m not sure why. Pets are supposed to help lower your blood pressure, but I must be doing something wrong, because all mine do is raise it. If I’m not chasing after Dorrie and wrestling her to retrieve one of my kid’s hats which she plucked off his head while he was sledding, I’m cleaning up hairballs or chasing cats away from sharpening their claws on the bedposts. Plus, I’m allergic to cats.
I’d write more, but I have to go stop my dog from tackling the children.
P.S. If you want to order my book, please be patient as we are currently experiencing a vendor problem that my publisher is feverishly trying to fix. You were going to order one, right? Of course, you were. I have to have some way to pay all my vet bills.