Tidbits and Puppy Breath

Toothpaste on a sponge takes CRAYON OFF OF WALLS! Woot. Take that Mr. Clean. That bald headed bastard thinks he can do anything.

We got a dog.

Honestly, what is the deal with this rain?! It's been raining here for almost EXACTLY a week. If this shit keeps up I'm building an ark.

Wait what? We got a dog? Yup. After we did some shopping on Tuesday I gave my dear hubby the big sweet eyes and asked if we can go play with puppies. You know, to compare breeds and see what we want and such. The sucker totally gave in in under five minutes and off we went to a kennel.

Oh, if you ever have a really bad week and don't have the money for a therapist, go to a puppy kennel. Nothing is better than being surrounded by dozens of adorable yip yappers in every size, shape and color. There was a toy yorkie there that, I kid you not, must of been no bigger than a hamster. We obviously couldn't go that route because he'd be Kiki The Psychocats breakfast. Ruby and I drifted around in our furry puppy breath bliss until the lady came in and said "You should go to the other room. I think your husband found something."

Ruh Roh.

We head over and there's my big burly husband, sitting on the floor indian style with what looked like a tiny bull mastiff on his lap. She was a 7 month old puggle.

I know, a puggle, one of those dreaded "Hybrid" dogs. Throw me bone here, (heh), I love pugs. LOVE. PUGS. But I just cannot deal with the breathing issues, heat stroke, face goo, and the fact that if you play with them to rough you run the risk of one of their big doe eyes popping out.

Not cool.

This dog was the last one of her litter, and was never sold due to a slight underbight and a funky toe. I think, we can live with that, especially if we get a deal on her.

We sho' did. We tested her with ourselves, the kids, signed off and took her home.

She is AMAZING. She loves both of my kids, plays, does all those great puppy things but is also very intelligent and relaxed. She has a great zen personality that is earily similar to Sam. No pug breathing and eye issues, and no beagle stubborness and desire to run 503 miles to follow the sent of a squirrel. Perfect. I asked the overexcited Ma what her name was and after a thoughtful minute she replied "LUCY!"



Welcome home, Lucy.