Not A Baby Any More

Yesterday we celebrated Teddy's fourth birthday with a barbeque in the back yard.  All the cousins were here, as were aunties and uncles and friends and neighbors.  It was hot out, but the yard is shady, and the kids played in the baby pool we had set up.  Thanks to a very generous little boy named Charlie who had outgrown it and wanted to give it away, Teddy got a swing set in the back yard for his birthday.  The kids had fun playing on it for much of the day.  Here he is modeling the sweater he got from Oma and Opa

Four years old is definitely "big boy" territory (although there's still plenty of crying and whining going on).  He's one of the kids now.

Another big birthday just passed, too, although I'm not sure exactly when.  Pippa turned two some time this week.  (When I adopted her, I was told she was eight weeks old, but had she turned eight weeks that day?  Several days earlier?  It was unclear, so I made her birthday the same as Max's, August 9.)  Look at this picture of her this morning.

Those of you who know her, will see the significance -- she's SLEEPING.  In her bed, during the day.  I was actually walking around from room to room, and she was lying in her bed SLEEPING!

She's been doing this lately, just in the past week.   This puppy has been stuck to me like velcro for two years, jumping up to follow me from room to room, barely closing her eyes when I'm around, so a few times I've actually gotten concerned when I noticed she wasn't underfoot and gone looking for her, only to find her lying in her bed. *Sigh* My babies are growing up!!

Regrets

I have a confession:  I got a puppy from a pet store. No, not recently (I just gave everyone in my family a heart attack -- sorry). It was 1992, and I was young and stupid. I dragged C into a pet store with me after an afternoon at the mall, "just to look," and I fell in love with a Boston Terrier puppy. We left that evening, but after hours of badgering, C gave in and agreed to getting the puppy.  We went back the next day. It was November 1st, a beautiful fall New England day. I was wearing a multi-colored, plaid, wool shirt from the Gap. We walked home from the pet store, and when we got to the bridge, I carried Max in the crook of my arm.

I never regretted getting Max (as you can probably tell from the fact that I remember everything about that day, including what I was wearing).  I do, however, regret giving money to the pet store industry.  Pet stores get their puppies from puppy mills that crank out dogs like sausages, and treat the "breeders" like machines -- think chicken farm with dogs piled in cages instead of birds. Then, the pet stores keep the puppies isolated in cages during their critical socialization period, teaching them to go to the bathroom where they sleep, and otherwise creating dogs that make poor family pets, while millions of healthy dogs are abandoned and euthanized at shelters every year.  

Max turned out to be a great dog, but we were lucky. Don't do what I did. If you're going to get a dog, go to the shelter or a reputable breeder.  Sorry for the preaching.  I guess I needed to get that off my chest.

Photo of the Day

Note to self: Pay a little more attention when furiously cleaning up kids' toys.

Photo of the day

My first "baby," Max, at about 11 years old, in October 2003. The perfect dog! (Sorry Pippa, you're energetic, fun, eager to please, and definitely irreplaceable, but there are big shoes to fill.)

Photo of the Day

This was Angel, the Boxer we adopted last year. Unfortunately, her seizures (which we knew she had when we adopted her) became worse shortly after we got her, and she only lived for a few months.  She was a sweet dog, and the boys adored her.  I was hopeful that we could give her a nice life for the last years of her life.  Even though it only turned out to be a few months, I'm think she enjoyed it while she was here . . .

We got her from a great rescue group, called Second Chance Boxer Rescue (here).

Costume Contest Loser

Just a Note:

Our friend RC makes the best, most elaborate Halloween costumes for his son.  He's made The Wrong Trousers from Wallace and Grommit, Mr. Crab from Spongebob, and Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars.  Every year, when I see The Costume, the competitive streak in me thinks I could do that!  Only I don't actually have time to sew a giant crab out of red vinyl (by hand).  Also, T1 and T2 have already gone through the purchased costumes we have and decided on the skeleton and Spider Man for this Halloween.  C doesn't really enjoy dressing up in costumes (isn't that odd?), so the only one left is Pippa.  In my fit of industry this weekend (see earlier post) I also whipped up a costume for the dog.  Here is my entry into the Make A Better Costume Than RC Contest:

SUPER PIPPA!  Can you top that one?

For The Love Of Dogs

Dear Family, Friends, and Visitors,

Getting a new puppy has to be one of the most exciting experiences in life. I think I put it fourth, right after falling in love, getting married, and having children. Getting a puppy doesn't have the gravitas of those top three life experiences, but it's not without its own ups and downs, as I found last year when we adopted Pippa.

About a year after our Boston Terrier, Max, died, I was looking on the internet to see if there were any Boston Terriers that were up for adoption. It was Thursday afternoon, and I told myself that I was just looking, as I had been off and on for a few months, taking a little break from work. I knew we shouldn't get a dog; I knew how much work it is, how much time it takes, and how much money. Then I saw it -- an add for a litter Boston Terrier and Chihuahua mix puppies. The puppies would be eight weeks old and ready to adopt in a week. I emailed the shelter right away and filled out an application. I felt excited, nervous and guilty. Would my husband, "C", agree? Was it the right thing to do? I lay awake that night, planning out walks and crates and housebreaking routines, trying, in turns, to talk myself into it and out of it.

The next day I called my sister, H, but she wasn't home, so I called my other sister, K. K has four kids and two dogs. "Don't do it!" K said. "A puppy is so much work." I called H again. H has three kids, and at that time had one cat, one dog, and two guinea pigs. "Bring it on, I say!" said H. "You can do it all." That's what I wanted to hear.  I can do it all, I thought, filled with excitement.

Later, after talking it over with C, I came to my senses again. I was disappointed, but he was right: it would be too much work; we didn't have enough time as it was; we were both working and the boys were little; it wouldn't be fair to the dog. A week went by, and I assumed the puppies must have been taken. I found time to think about other things. Then, on Saturday morning, the woman from the shelter called and said the puppies were ready to be picked up. My heart jumped, but I told her I had changed my mind, I couldn't take a puppy. She suggested I take two, then they would have each other, but I was firm and said no.

The obsession was back, though, and I kept turning the thoughts over and over in my mind. The Boston Terrier mix puppy was still there, in need of a home, within arm's reach!  The little girl in me pleaded, "I want a puppy!"

I went out to lunch with two friends as I had planned, still obsessing over the thought of a puppy. I asked them what I should do. Michelle said she wouldn't get a dog, it was too much to handle on top of everything else; Emma said she couldn't imagine life without a dog.

Finally, I rebelled (against myself; inside my head). Out of every two people I asked, one said I shouldn't get a dog, and one said I should. What about what I think? I asked myself. A dog had always been part of our family, part of our home. Walking the dog was my exercise. Reading about them and training them were my hobbies. Was I split in half, between work and taking care of kids, with nothing left over of myself just for me? I went home and pleaded my case to C (thank you law school training). Being my best friend, he listened and finally agreed. If it was important to me and I was willing to do everything it took, then I (we) should get the puppy.

My stomach was in knots and my hands were sweating as I called the shelter. They had three puppies left! If I wanted to pick one up that day, though, I had to hurry. It was two o'clock, and it would be over an hour's drive. I was so happy, I couldn't stop smiling, and I felt like I could have run the 70 miles to the shelter. I gathered everything I needed, got in the car, and we were off.  I was ecstatic.  And on top of everything, I was able to take T1, four years old at the time, and share the fun with him.

As expected, there were to be tough times ahead, but for a few days there, this little puppy brought pure happiness to our house.


Love always,
Christina