Russellings of the Spirit

What were we thinking?

We said we would wait a full year. And – NEWS FLASH! THIS JUST IN: nine months is NOT the same thing as one year.

When Molly the dog died in March 2017, my wife and I were both very sad.

Molly came to us almost 10 years ago as a three-year-old “rescue” dog and gradually wormed her way into our hearts.

But you know how it is when you own a dog; it turns out you actually have to SPEND TIME with them and TAKE CARE of them!

They require feeding, walking, cleaning (and cleaning up after), playing, and housing. And when you want to travel, go out to dinner, or just sneak away for the weekend, temporary custodial arrangements must be made.

So while we were heartbroken and sad following Molly’s demise, we were also conscious of a new freedom of movement we had not known in years.

“We won’t be petless forever,” we said. “But let’s take a full year’s sabbatical.”

We adjusted surprisingly quickly to our new state. Gone were the evenings of scurrying back quickly from the theater to feed the dog, or find out what kind of mischief she might have caused. Suddenly we found we could leave home for days at a time without guilt… or the need to arrange a house-and-dog sitter.

We hated to say it out loud, but we actually found ourselves reveling in this new-found autonomy.

So now, less than nine months after our tearful farewell to Molly, we have turned around to discover that a furry, four-legged, eight-week-old little cutie pie named Rosie has settled in and made a home with us. Here is her picture: 

(To answer your question, yes… it is always important to choose a pet whose color coordinates with the color of your furniture and carpet).

How did this happen? What diabolical siren song hypnotized us into thinking that we were ready to take on house-breaking, crate training, both basic and advanced obedience training (more ours than hers of course), restrictions on movement, and regular sleep deprivation?

Hmmm. That’s a real stumper. Let me pause for a few moments and get back to you on that one, OK?

(Thoughtful interlude ensues… imagine “Final Jeopardy” thinking music playing here…)

As it turns out, I spent my pondering time rolling around on the carpet with new puppy, Rosie. She seems to love a little roughhousing complete with mock growls, playful nips and rolled tennis balls. After some spirited belly-rubbing, she rears up on her back legs and paws the air, resembling a tiny, furry stallion. The red rubber squeak toy then seizes her attention and she sees no reason why she should not squeeze it in her teeth over and over and over again.

Such fun!

Little Rosie then notices the dangling Christmas lights and decides they will be the next targets to be attacked and mauled. A combination move consisting of a sharp clap of the hands, loudly spoken “NO!” and deft substitution of the knotted rope chew toy steer her away from the looming Christmas calamity.

“OK, Rosie,” I say, with a hint of reluctance. “Time to stop playing and get back to my laptop. I posed a deep and vexing question in my blog post a minute ago and now I have to go try to answer it.”

So… back to the question: why in the world did we choose to give up all that delicious freedom and take the plunge into puppy parenting?

No idea.

None whatsoever.