after emily died, i figured we'd wait a bit before jumping into another dog. yes, i realize that the visual there is a bit messy. and so, a few days later when we saw a video of a husky pup i figured that it was no big deal. and then everyone ooh'ed and ahhh'ed and now a husky pup will be moving in on saturday.
i've never had a puppy. a one year-old dog who ate sweaters that we later had to pull out of her ass, string by string? yes. a puppy? no. so now i'm cramming every last bit of puppy knowledge that i can find into my head. it looks something like this:
a view of the inner workings of bec's brain on dogs
a husky puppy.hmm.... a husky puppy.
"huskies sometimes eat small animals: mice, other rodents, sometimes small sheep or deer." uh oh. watch out, backyard deer. my last dog just barked at you. this one wants fresh venison.
husky puppy.
oh! a puppy! i love puppies!
wait!!!!!
puppies bite faces. they eat, sleep, play, poop--is there anything else?--sort of like an adult dog without knowing the rules. the rules? okay, refresher on the rules. refresher on teaching the rules. refresher on remembering the rules. (note to bec: this is not the time to let the inner-anarchist free.)
back to the rules.
hit the library.
why can't i remember where the library was in junior high? did we have a library? did i ever go there? why can't i remember that? and where was the music wing? i can see it but i can't figure out how to get there. is this early onset senility? does that happen in one's thirties?
oh, sorry.
refocus.
library.
puppies for dummies....
"mommy, why are puppies only for dummies?" (he'll be five in three days.)
"they're not only for dummies. they're for everyone!" (me, oversimplifying.)
"and us, too." (well, yes. we're dummies. we fit the first category.)
things puppies need:
puppy food.
puppy biscuits.
puppy treats.
puppy toys.
patience.
peace, love, and understanding.
a soft place to sleep. \
socialization.
playing....
WHAT?!!? they sometimes eat WHAT?!!!?
okay, so they like to eat poop sometimes. sometimes it's their own. sometimes it's not.
sounds grrrrrreat.
a little coprophagia with your coffee, perhaps?
at which point, i fall asleep and wake up five minutes later after having dreamed that i was being chased through the meat packing district by a polar bear who had escaped from someone's yard.