So, on Tuesday, we made a little trip south to a pound.  And came back with a bundle of .. something.

Meet Belle.  A four month old purebred chocolate lab who was turned back in to the pound (where she was originally born) because her family had to move and couldn’t take her with them.  Which, I KNOW, RIGHT?  Totally breaks your heart. 

When we started talking about a third dog, the initial thought was to get an older dog, but one spritely enough to entertain Beau.  Beau is two or so now, and wants to run off some energy.  So instead, he terrorizes Mabel .. who is now a senior citizen and deserves a more peaceful twilight setting for her golden years.

“Do you want a poodle?” Bryan asked.  I had poodles growing up and I love them so.  But Beau is a bigger dog, and I worried about how well they could stand up to his hijinxs.  Which, for the record, I’m pretty sure I slaughtered the spelling of.  Anyway.

“.. I’d rather have a chocolate lab,” I said.  And it’s true.  I’ve always had a thing for chocolate labs, and we had Sadie in the Bitter House who was every bit a product of the breed.  Also, Sadie was dumb as a post.

We visited a couple of pounds last weekend, and fell in love with a husky pup only to find out that she was already “claimed”.  Tony was bereft and kept saying, “BUT I WANT HER TO COME HOME TO OUR HOME!”.  Not at all heartbreaking.  But then, out of the blue, this chocolate lab puppy showed up at the very same pound on Tuesday.

Tuesday and Wednesday were .. hard.  Like, very hard.  For me, personally.  Bryan is amazed at how easy this all has been, but .. well, I’m OCD.  That’s it, plain and simple.  We adopted Willie in 2008 and that was a horrible, horrible mistake as his energy was not right with our pack at the time and it was a very scarring experience for me.  So I’ve been incredibly leery about bringing another dog in.

Belle’s .. a four month old puppy.  You dog people are laughing at me right now, and laughing at my ignorance, because it’s been two years since I’ve raised a puppy.  And I have baby amnesia when it comes to puppies AND babies.  I don’t remember the crap and the horror of the baby/puppy phase.  Belle is smart as a whip (“.. clever girl..”), and has energy unrivaled.  Also, she tends to pee a lot.  And maybe this is a lab thing, but she likes to lay HER ENTIRE BODY IN THE WATER DISH.  And Beau is crazy protective of me in particular, so he’s been UP MY ASS.  ALL THE TIME.  So I looked at Bryan last night and said, “Bryan, I don’t know if I can do this.  It’s not her; it’s me.  I don’t know that I’m mentally stable enough to do this.”

He smiled at me, carefully, with the look that only a spouse can give you.  It’s the look that says, Honey, I wish you knew how strong I know you are.  It’s a look that tells you Yes, I know where you’re crazy.  And that’s the part where I am sane.  It’s THAT look.  The one where you show your weak spot, and they put a band-aid on it for you.

It’s now Thursday.  Beau and Belle have played for HOURS by the time I’m even out of the bed, and there is only one accident on the floor.  When I make my way out to the common areas, where the dogs are kept, the dogs promptly trot outside and do their business.  All of them. 

We were worried when SOMEONE spent the first 48 hours perched high on top of the fridge..

But today, she’s out with everyone else.  And Belle could really care less.  Cats just aren’t her bag.

I texted Bryan today with the news that there were NO accidents when I arrived home and Belle promptly went outside ON HER OWN to do her business.  I also reported Lola is out and walking around among the canines.  I think I can do this, I admitted. (JINXING MYSELF TO HIGH HEAVEN.)

He replied, “Of course you can do this.  You’re Sarah Fucking Brown.”