Pic - Puppy Girl's first leash walk outside!

Puppy Girl - The escape artist

 

Sigh.

If Puppy Dog is a Velociraptor, Puppy Girl is Houdini.

When we went for weekend to the Best Ripoff Hotel in the West, she stayed with our good friends, Will and Kathy - Theo, Tara and Tasha's parents.  

Tasha is Puppy Girl's cousin, and only fractionally older than her, so Will and Kathy are also living in the midst of puppy madness and kindly agreed to help us out (we arranged to go to Ripoff Hotel long before I got Puppy-itis and managed to melt Fluffy Bear's heart).

While Puppy Girl was staying with Will and Kathy, she got out of her crate not once, but twice.  Kathy came into the kitchen to find Puppy Girl in front of Tasha's crate, mocking her.

"I got out!  HA HA!  You're still stuck in your crate!  HA HA!  I can run around and play!  HA HA!"

Needless to say, Tasha was pissed.

Much barking going on.

So at least I was pre-warned.

I've been careful to make sure the crate is really closed when she's in there, I check on her every five to ten minutes when she and Puppy Dog are playing (outside or inside).

But I'm human, and I have to go to the bathroom.

So I don't know when exactly the dogs came inside.  I don't know how the front door got opened.  I also don't know how Puppy Girl managed to break the screen on the screen door.

What I do know is that, when I came out of the bathroom, Puppy Dog was quivering, looking up at me, very concerned.  I followed him through the dining room and living room and there she was, at the front door, outside the screen, paws on the lower part of the screen door (which is metal and about 10 inches high), head sticking through the broken square of screen, completely confused as to how she could get back into the house.

I wish I could download that mental picture for you, and the feeling of panic that followed hot on its heels.

But I knew I couldn't yell or make any sudden movements, or she might turn around, run outside, down the steep bank in front of our house (we have no fencing around the front yard), out onto the sidewalk, the road, and God knows where after that.

So I made placating noises and reached through the screen to pull her back in, sighing with relief.

I know Fluffy Bear will laugh when I tell him.

It may not have been funny to live, but at least it will be one of those stories that's funny to tell.

Oy vey... 

To read more in the Doggy Mama series, click here.

Dear Diary - No more pity party

 

Dear Diary,

Well, after chatting to 2 good friends over devilled eggs, stuff mushrooms, slow-cooked ribs, mashed potato, corn, coleslaw, Ben and Jerrys and 3 bottles of wine, the pity party is over.

I am 40.  

I am jobless.

I am fat.

The first thing I can't change.  The second thing I am changing.  The third thing needs a plan.

So here's my plan, and it's called 1441.

There's a saying in the UK, "1661."  It's to describe those skinny, groomed, well-preserved women with incredible hair. They look 16 from the back, and 61 from the front.

Well, I am going to be size 14 (American) by the time I am 41.

Oh, and as for not being able to change being 40 - I do have one small comfort.

I don't look it.

Onwards and upwards, dear Diary!

[insert fanfare here]

REPOST - Stuff Female People Like - No 1: Microclean

 

Why am I reposting old stuff?  Well, here's the thing about a blog.  The good stuff gets left behind to rot, assigned to a date in the past.  So, now and then, I'm just gonna pull out some of the stuff that I like and bring it into the present again.

This post was originally dated 3 April, 2009.

No. 1: Microcleaning

 

Female People like to microclean.

 

They'll be doing something completely unrelated to cleaning, like putting make up on, and they'll notice that there are a few hairs and some dust lurking behind the taps on the bathroom basin. Microdirt. So they'll reach over, without breaking their stride, grab a piece of toilet paper, wipe behind the taps, throw the toilet paper away and take a second to behold the much cleaner, much neater looking taps.

 

NOTE: Microclean = a small cleaning task

 

If you aren't watching carefully, you won't even see the Microclean happen. It's over in a flash.

It's a seemingly small thing, but it means a lot to Female People.

 

On the other hand, Female People tend not to understand that Male People do not know what Microcleaning is. They mistakenly think that Male People have chosen not to Microclean, when in fact the Male People (a) don't notice the Microdirt and so (b) wouldn't think to clean it.

This is because Male People and Female People are different kinds of circus performers.

Male People are lion tamers. When they are in the cage with the lions they are dominant and totally focussed. They have to be.

Female People are jugglers, keeping several things going at once, using periferal vision, co-ordination, balance, skill, timing.

 

The Female Person sees the Microdirt while not breaking concentration on the makeup application. The Male Person does not see the Microdirt. He went into the bathroom to take a shit, and that's it. Focus.

The gender divide over Microcleaning usually isn't an issue, unless the Female Person notices Microdirt that they are convinced the Male Person

1. must have seen,


2. must have been annoyed by,


3. must have been annoyed enough by to want to take action,


4. must have been able to compute an easy Microcleaning solution to the Microdirt which would in no way compromise the task he was previously engaged in


5. been motivated to take immediate action, and


6. not only excuted the Microclean but


7. done so effectively.

Female People simply don't understand that (1) doesn't happen, let alone (2) through (7). Therefore, blaming Male People for not making the effort to carry out (6) or not being thorough enough to ensure (7) is simply nonsensical.

Sadly, however, this is a common cause of disagreement in the average household.
Hence:

FP: "Do not tell me that you didn't notice the toilet roll was finished! Why didn't you put a new roll on?"
MP: "It's not finished. There's still one square on it."
FP: "Are you kidding me?"

NOTE: Microclean = a small cleaning task + one that is easily done

Another key thing to remember about Microcleaning is it's immediacy. Female People's motivation behind Microcleaning is simple: I'll get this tiny thing done now, and it won't turn into a big thing that has to be done later.

Microcleaning is a key tool in the Female Person's Disaster Prevention Arsenal.

Hence:

FP: "Honey, couldn't you have wiped the sauces splashes on the microwave glass
plate?"
MP: "What splashes?"
FP: "The splashes. Now we've microwaved other stuff and the sauce is cooked on."
MP: "Don't worry. It'll wipe off."
FP: "Oh sure! I'll be the one scrubbing it off!"
MP: "Well, leave it! I'll do it later!"
[Sound of scrubbing.]
MP: "Honey, what are you doing? I said I'd do it."
FP: "You know you bloody well won't."

NOTE: Microclean = a small cleaning task + that is easily done + right now

The gender divide aside, Microcleaning is important to Female People. Having accomplished the Microclean, the Female Person will be more relaxed, even slightly happier, feeling they have added some order to a chaotic world.

Dear Diary - I am Woman, Hear me Whimper

 

Dear Diary,

Turning 40 sucks.

Maybe it won't/didn't for you, but for me it did.  

So there.

Why does turning 40 suck?

• Because all my friends expect me to have a big party and all I want to do is climb under the duvet and hide for 6 months
• Because that hotel that gave us 3 free nights turned out to have crappy food and crappier service and was so fucking overpriced that we ended up spending a fortune there anyway - so much for a deal
• Because I don't have a job and every time I think of a fun thing to do - like have a massage - I remember, a second later, that I can't afford it
• Because I had a wonderful interview today with a lovely person and then, suddenly, I realized that, if I got this job, my boss would be almost ten years younger than me
• Because I made a resolution 9 months ago to weigh 75kgs by the time I turned 40 and - guess what? - I weigh exactly the same as last year
• Because I feel stuck.

And this is why I have two pints of Ben and Jerrys in the freezer and a life plan and goal setting can wait until tomorrow.

Bah Humbug!

Hi from Puppy Girl - My new home

 

Hi everyone!

My name is Puppy Girl and I am new to this pack.

I don't know why, but one day some people came to my happy litter and took me away.  It was very scary.  But then they introduced me to my big brother and they were nice to me, so I decided it was a benevolent kidnapping.

My new den is smaller than my old one, and the yard outside is tiny.  I can see that there are a lot of exciting things close by though, so I started digging my way to freedom under the fence yesterday.  Mama and Dada found my escape tunnel, though, and they were very unhappy with me.  

Sigh.

I mean, I promise to come back!  Why can't I just go and explore a bit?

In fact, Mama and Dada are buzzkills in all sorts of ways.

They don't like me tasting the plants, they don't like me chomping stones, they don't like me chewing the bark in my special potty place.

I mean come on!

They take all the fun out of being outside!

Still, I like the yard.  And getting out there is a piece of pie.  If I want to go out and play, all I have to do is pee in the house and next thing you know, I'm being carried outside like an Egyptian princess!

Maybe this new pack ain't so bad after all...

Licky licks,

Puppy Girl

He Said She Said - Halloween Candy

 

"WHY DID YOU EAT MY CHOCOLATE?" she yelled.

"WHAT?" he yelled back, walking into the kitchen.

"My chocolate."

"What chocolate?"

"The Babe Ruth.  You know I only like the Babe Ruths!  I found the wrapper!"

"Oh, you mean the Star Bar!"

"What?"

"It's the same as a chocolate bar called Star Bar in England."

"Never had it.  Don't care.  Why did you eat one?"

"Well, I wanted to taste it."

"Hmmmph!"

"OK, honey," he said, getting irritated.  "First of all, we are talking about an inch square piece of chocolate.  Second, why did you buy such a big bag of candy?  Third, I thought you specifically bought a pack of chocolates you didn't like.  Fourth, you shouldn't have opened that bag of Halloween candy anyway!"

"First of all, nyah nyah nyah.  Second of all, we were in Costco and we both agreed to get the candy.  Third of all, I did think that I didn't like the chocolate, till I tried them and found I do like chocolate-covered peanuts, caramel, and nougat confusingly named after an iconic baseball player.  Fourth of all, you try not opening a huge bag of chocolate when you are sleep deprived, you've given up smoking,  the baby is chewing your shoes and you need coffee and a chocolate before you kick her across the room!"

"You wouldn't!" he gasped.

"No," she said.  "Of course I wouldn't.  Because I had chocolate to soothe me.  So there!  Now stop eating the Babe Ruths!  They're the only ones I like!"

"I ONLY ATE ONE!"

"OK fine.  Just don't eat anymore."

"Keep this up, and I am going to buy you cigarettes and make you stand outside in the rain till you become nice again."

"I was never nice."

"Oh yeah.  Right."

"You're shit outta luck.  And we're married.  And we're catholic.  So you're stuck with me."

"I'm going to play my video game now," he said.  "I may be some time."

"Here," she said, holding up a bite-sized Snickers, "have a chocolate."

Hell is other people - I'm tired. Stop talking!

 

So we finally get off the tiny-seated, no-food, completely full plane, we walk through the airport, we stand in the cold waiting for the bus to take us to the long term car park, the bus finally comes, we get on, we remain patient while the bus stops for 4 other sets of people.

Finally, we are on our way to the car park.  We have 20 minutes to get to doggy day care to get our older boy.  The clock is ticking.

We are tired, we are hungry, we are impatient.

"How's everyone this evening, folks?" yells the driver.

Grateful there are other people on the bus, we let them answer.  The English don't tend to engage in loud conversation with strangers.

"I gotta tell you a story!" he yells.

Oh, fuck.  Here we go.

"So I'm driving the bus the other day, and this guy gets on with his wife and his teenage son.  Like I said to all of you when you got on, I said to him: 'May I have your yellow ticket, Sir?'  Well, he's diggin' in his pockets and he can't find his ticket. 

"Then he says to me: 'I remember it, though, it's BILL.'  Bill?  Bill?  I don't know what he's talking about. 

"So finally he finds his ticket and he hands it to me.  It's for parking spot B one-eleven!

"I say: 'That's for parking spot B one-eleven!'

"And now his teenage son is cracking up.  The dad is so embarrassed but his son is laughing and laughing.  And then his son says to me: 'You know what his job is?'

"I say: 'What's his job?'

"The boy says: 'He's a teacher!' "

A few polite laughs from the passengers.  Fluffe Bear and I aren't playing.  We stay stoically silent. 

Fluffy Bear opens up the notepad on his iPhone and types something.  He shows it to me.  It says:  Kill me.

"Wait!  It gets better!" the driver yells, clearly having missed his calling as a salesman on QVC shopping channel.

"The son says: 'Ask him what he teaches!'

"I say: 'What do you teach, Sir?'

"He says: 'Spelling!' "

A few people on the bus laugh.  Only the woman sitting at the front seems genuinely amused.  Or maybe she always laughs like a manic banshee, who knows?

Fluffy Bear taps his iPhone again, turning the screen to show me.  Added to the previous message are three words:  Kill me now.

"Yeah," continues the driver, causing Fluffy Bear to slump in defeat (he'd obviously thought the seated-stand-up routine was over), "people do lots of embarrassing things on my bus!

"One time I picked up this really big guy.  He was about 6 foot 6 and really - uh - sturdy. 

"So he gets on the bus and he can't find his ticket.  And he's standing at the front of the bus, fishing in his pockets and he says: 'I guess I have something in my pocket that you want, right?'

Real laughter this time.  Good old sexual innuendo, never lets an amateur comic down.

"So, as you know me by now, I never let a joke go.  So I lean on the pole right here and I say: 'But, Sir, we just met!"

OK, if I was less tired, and had more time on my hands, that would be funny, I guess.

But I'm not and I don't so I'm staring out the window, willing the car park to appear around the next corner.

And it does.

Thank God.

I know I'm a bitch but, still, hell is other people.

I'm jus' saying' - Adapt or die

 

Dear Hotel Manager

Charging us $51 for a mediocre breakfast for two, that didn't even include any alcohol, is why y'all ain't got no business no more.

And another thing...

If I'd known I was going to have a hand in my pocket through my stay in this hotel, I'd have walked around wearing just my bathing suit, wriggling occassionally, so that at least I could've enjoyed it a little.

I'm jus' sayin'.

I'm jus' sayin' -Turning 40

 

40th birthdays should be spent somewhere sunny, next to a pool with bar service, mildly inebriated. 

I'm jus' sayin'.

He Said She Said - TMI

 

They walked into the airport terminal.

"Is there a long queue at Security?" she asked.  "Because I have to pee.  That latte on the way here is getting me."

"Don't worry," he reassured her.  "The line isn't long.  And I have to pooh."

"There really is no TMI between married couples, is there?" she said.

"Nope," he said.

They pushed their way through to the shortest line - why do people always go to the first line and not spread out among all the Xray machines? - got through the bureaucracy and headed for the escalator.  He was in front of her, one step below as they glided downwards.

"Guess what?" he said.  "I just did a pre-pooh fart.  And you're my wife and you have to stand in it!  HAH!"

"Oh my God," she said.  "Oh my GOD!"

Hell is other people - Jane Joyce

James Joyce has been re-incarnated.  As a woman.  

 

And he isn't allowed to be a writer this lifetime, so he's decided to just live his stream of consciousness expression through cacophonous verbalization.

 

No, I'm not crazy.  This is just the only explanation I can think of for the woman two rows back on the plane yesterday who had a loud, nasaly voice and did not shut the fuck up for two and a half hours.

 

Example of her stream of consciousness monologue (and yes, it was a monologue, because the poor woman sitting next to her couldn't get a word in edgewise):

Yes, I have three kids.  My first is 13 and is finding where she fits in at school.  You know how that is.  My second is doing fine, far as I can tell.  My third is kinda stressy.  You know, the youngest, not the strongest.  He is also the only boy, so it's hard.  We try to help him and make sure he has man time with his daddy but it's hard because my husband works so hard and I'm the one home all day and so he is surrounded by three females and oh, we had such a sad time last year when our dog died.  We had her for 13 years.  We were at the vet and I was just crying and crying.  So silly I know but I just remembered all the great times we had together you know?  She would play with the kids and jump up on the bed and I remember her chewing my shoes when she was a puppy and she used to swim in the lake with the kids and she really looked after my youngest when he wanted to just be boisterous and go outside and play.  But he can also play with our little rabbit.  Yes, we have a bunny.  He's the cutest little thing.  Brown and soft and cuddly.  Our neighbor has one of those rabbits that are white with red eyes.  I don't like those, they're creepy.  Mostly it just stays in the garden and the mud room but my second daughter likes to take it up to her room and I told her, I said, just be careful of all those wires up there, honey.  And of course with us and the neighbor having rabbits we have to be so careful with our fences because just the tiniest hole and they'll get out...

 

Hell, my friends.

 

Hell is other people.

Update on Saturday, October 17, 2009 at 6:09PM by Ittybittycrazy

There must be a secret society of loud women with nasal voices, and they are out to get me.  I've been identified and targeted as a hostile.  They are therefore seeking me out and annoying the living shit out of me.

That first one on the plane was Agent 001.

At the pool today, Agent 002 was on her cell phone.  

We were at the over 18 pool.  Now why, I ask  you, dear reader, with tears in my eyes, would a hotel even have an over 18 pool?  And why would people use it?

What it is about children at a pool that might irritate someone?

Could it be... might it possibly... can we humbly propose that it is because of the NOISE?

And so sitting with your feet in the pool talking loudly on your cell phone, that's rude, isn't it, wrinkly-leathered-faced-too-much-sun lady?

Fluffy Bear had to do something about this one and so, he asked her, very politely, to talk more softly.  Apparently she moderated her voice.  I didn't witness it... I'd buggered off to go and lie in the hammock on the grass, out of hearing range.

Later on, back at the pool, Agent 003.  

Part of some work junket, she found a colleague she knew and decided to make small talk.

This time it was all about her car ("It's so smooth you just don't know what speed you're going"), getting a speeding ticket on the way to the hotel and how her husband was playing the highway game with some guy.  

"You know the one," she said. "Where you overtake him and then he overtakes you and you are pretty much driving on your long journey together.

"So my husband was keeping pace with him and, when we got the ticket, he said the guy in the Merc had totally drawn him into the trap!"

Yeah, right.

Then it was all about her daughter and how she'd lost her job and was learning to live cheaply - cancelled her cable, eating differently, and now blogging on how to live life spending less.

Finally!

Something I'd WANT to overhear.

I waited to hear the blog URL.  

"It's Callie-something-cheap-something...

"No, it's cheapliving-something..."

She didn't remember it.

Hello from Puppy Dog - Stupid baby

 

Hello friends

I am so mad at the new puppy!

Oh sure, she's kinda cute and she's fun to hang out with and I've been teaching her how to play Growly Tug and Chase and Wrestlemania.  And I was thinking that this whole big brother thing isn't so bad and then...

She bit my penis!

I'm not kidding!

SHE.

BIT.

MY. 

PENIS!!!

I told her!  I said that I don't have nipples, and I don't have any milk, but she doesn't listen.

And so she walks under me and pokes around and licks and, next thing I know, PIRAHNA TEETH ON MY JUNK!

I growled at her so loud she whimpered and ran away.

Well, too bad.  She needs to listen to me.  I'm the big brother.

Stupid baby.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog

Dear Diary - Turning 40

  

Dear Diary,

I'm turning 40, and I am not sure how I feel about that.

I think it kinda sucks a little.

According to popular Western media, a woman over 40 is mother/career overachiever/cougar/crazy old bat.

I am none of those things.

I am a mother to two doggies, but I've never given birth to a human child or held a little mouth to my breast.

I am a career woman but not an overachiever.  My career track was derailed a few times, so I am not at executive level and, frankly, I don't want to be.  I want a life outside of work.

I'm not thin enough or pretty enough to be a cougar, and I resent the implication that a woman who is strong, available, financially independent and sexually active is, by definition, a predator.

I may be slightly crazy, but you can't see it if you just talk to me out in the world.

So who am I now that I am 40?

Stay tuned while I figure this out...

Being a Doggy Mama - Breaking point

 

Many year's ago - I must've been 12 or so years old - I went to stay with my sister while her husband was away on a business trip.  She'd just had her first baby.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her in the living room, watching her wide-awake son playing with toys on the carpet, crying her eyes out.

I was confused by what I saw, and slunk back to bed.

When I was a kid, if there was something I didn't understand, it stayed stored in my memory in the "Don't get it - Gather more data" file.

Sometimes I'd ask someone a question to get the answer, sometimes I'd think it through, and sometimes I just kept my mouth shut, instinctively knowing that I couldn't ask an adult about it, and that, someday, I'd get it.

Case in point:  I used to read a lot of Judy Blume.  I remember one scene where the female protagonist was kissing the boy of her dreams and she got scared, telling the reader that she felt something hard and knew it wasn't his keys.  It took at least 3 years till I understood that one.  

Hey - don't mock me!

I read WAY above my age range.

Anyway, I didn't get why my sister was sitting there, like a crumpled tissue, slumped in the lounge chair, sniffing.

Over the years, I've seen movies about being a mother, talked to friends, read books.  But I'll never understand the pain and emotion involved in giving birth to a child, never feel what it is like to breast-feed a baby, never go through the wrench of empty nest syndrome.

But there is one thing I DO get now.

I get that you can be so tired that you open the fridge instead of the trash can to throw away snotty tissues, that you are unreasonably tetchy with your husband and that you can actually get to the point where you wonder what the hell you got yourself into, doubt you can cope, and just want to sit down, put your head in your hands as if you are the overacting, big-haired, pancake-makeup-faced lead in a daytime soap opera, and cry, cry, cry.

I didn't actually do it.  But I thought about doing it.  My nose got tickly, my lower lip pouted, and tears almost came.

Still, it's only my third sleepless night with the puppy, so you never know.

That little bundle of warm, milky, chocolaty goodness may break me yet.

Hello from Puppy Dog - Whiny baby

 

Hello Friends

Oh my God I am so sick of the new baby!

Why is she here?

Why are there gates and crates and rules ever since she arrived?

And why does she make so much noise?!

I ask her:

"Puppy Girl, why are you crying?"

And she always has something to complain about!

Boo hoo hoo, she's tired.

Boo hoo hoo, she's bored.

Boo hoo hoo, she's hungry.

Boo hoo hoo, she needs to pee.

Boo hoo hoo, she wants to play.

Boo hoo hoo, she needs to poop.

Boo hoo hoo, she doesn't want to be in her crate.

Boo hoo hoo, she wants to chew something she shouldn't.

I said to her, I said:

"Puppy Girl!  Shush!  

"You, with your puppy gates and your special crate and your bio-something food bowl!  You think your life is hard?

"Trying being a teenager with no testicles!  THAT'S hard!"

Stupid baby. 

Lots of irritation and annoyance, 

Puppy Dog

Work-Life Imbalance - Home office

 

We have a new puppy.  

You have probably gathered that.  If not, scroll down a few posts.

When we got her, we didn't know what to name her.  

We discussed some options on the way home from the breeder.  We looked some female baby names up online.  We got friends to send suggestions via Facebook and Twitter.

Then I got a piece of Fluffy Bear's home office stationary, and wrote all the top names on it.

This seemed like a perfectly good plan to me.  I figured that, when our friends came round to see the puppy the next day, they could weigh in on the top choices, or add some new suggestions.

Until, that is, they actually arrived on Sunday morning and I saw the look on their faces when I pointed at the flip chart page, like a giant post-it, symbolizing my co-conspiracy in the invasion of the private universe by the corporate realm, hanging in our lounge wall with the scribbles of a name-brainstorm all over it.

Sigh.

Work-life imbalance.

I'm jus' sayin' - Puppy farts

 

Aw, COME ON!

How the hell can something so SMALL and so CUTE let out gas so POTENT and NOXIOUS?

I'm jus' sayin'

Being a Doggy Mama - Puppy Girl Day 1

Oh boy.  

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.

Well, of course we took her into our family.  Who could resist?

As I am job hunting, I am on night duty.

And here's how the first night went:

• 1:15 am - she wakes up, crying.  I take her out for a pee, she plays
• 2:00 am - she asks to get up onto the couch with me, and settles down
• 2:22 am - I gather her up in the blanket she's lying on, and put her into her crate
• Ah, sleep
• 4:22 am - she wakes up, crying.  I take her out for a pee, she plays.  She poops on the carpet.  Ah, who knew she needed to do No. 1 and No. 2?
• 4:33 - she asks to be up on the couch with me, and settles down
• 4:44 - I put her in her crate
• 4:46 - she cries.  I lie down with her, my head half in the crate, to calm her.  She licks and nibbles my head, searching for a nipple in my hair.  It's kinda funny and disconcerting, all at once.  She goes to sleep
• Ah, sleep
• 6:30 - she wakes up, crying.  She pees.  She plays.  She eats.
• 7:42 - she asks to get up on the couch and settles down
• 8:00 - I put her in her crate
• Ah, sleep
• 8:30 - she wakes up, crying.  She pees, she poops, she plays.
• 9:30 - she asks to get up on the couch with me
• Fluffy Bear wakes up.  My shift is over.  Oh, thank God.

Hello from Puppy Dog - What the---?

 

Hello friends,

Maybe you can help me and explain what the hell is going on.

Yesterday Mama and Dada took me for a long drive - which was a lot of fun.  We stopped at a place with a lot of grass and I got to run around - which was even more fun.

Then Mama and Dada put me back in the car and disappeared for a while and then Dada got back in the car with a baby!

Then we went to see Theo and his Mama and Dada and his sister Tara and their baby, Tasha.  So I figured we were just bringing them another baby.  So Theo and I played - which was a lot of fun.

But then we get in the moving den to go home and the baby comes with us!

And now she's in my house!

And she woke me up five times last night!

And she peed on two - count them, TWO - of my cushions!

And she pooped on the floor!  Disgusting!

AND when she pooped outside, she got a treat!

What the HELL?  What is the big deal?

I poop outside all the time and nobody gives me a treat!

I don't think I like this.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog.