Puppy Love

The kids are 5 and 7 years old. Things have been running pretty smoothly in our household. So what do we do? We re-introduce complete chaos. Voluntarily. We bring home a puppy.

I have to say that it's a nice change of pace to be adding to our family in a way that doesn't require me to get hemorrhoids. Of course, there's still time.

So anyway, his name is Ralph.  It was tough coming up with a good name, on account of the Uncle factor (most good dog names are taken by uncles.) We were forced to watch hour after hour of old Warner Brothers cartoons, in order to make the proper selection. (Then we looked it up in the baby name book to make sure it didn't mean something horrible, like "Bubonic Plague.")

"Ralph" as I'm sure any baby-name-ophile knows, means "Wise Counsel" or, in Latin "Who ate the ottoman?" He is a Great-Pair-of-Knees puppy (Okay, Great Pyrenees. But I think my daughter's terminology rocks.) For those of you unfamiliar with this particular breed of dog, think Polar Bear. Actually, he's a cross between a polar bear and a couch potato. Don't ask me how they managed it.

This is a great family breed in every way, except possibly one. They shed. A lot. People actually spin the fur into yarn and knit sweaters (people who need to get a life, that is.) So anyway, every spring, my family will be adopting the "Yeti" look.

The process of searching for the perfect breed (or mix) for your family is much the same as settling on a name for a new baby: best left until a couple has enough joint assets as would be difficult and inconvenient to divide.

My main criterion for said dog was that it should weigh less than I do. That sounds reasonable, right? But to my husband, the term "canine" does not apply to anything that can't, in a pinch, pull his car out of a ditch. He's been kind enough to order me some Twinkies by the case, because as it stands, I'm going to be about 15 pounds shy.

Now I realize that getting a giant dog is a much better career move if you happen to be a cartoonist (rather than a lowly humor writer) but I shall attempt to make due. Be forewarned, however, that just as some of you put up with my "too much information" policy when I was a brand new mom, you poor people will have to suffer through my droning on and on about his every puppy breakthrough, and his genius puppy disposition and such. Because I'm the mom and that's the law. You can just put on your blank stare right now, and check back with me in a year or so.

Still with me?
HA! Couldn't look away, eh? Like with a car wreck.

There are some new rules in my house on account of the puppy.

• Ralph is not allowed to color with red magic markers.
  
• He is not allowed to walk around the house with the coffee table stuck on his back - like some huge fluffy turtle, as it makes dents in the walls.
  
• The drapes are NOT his personal Kleenex tissue. Neither is my skirt.
  
• We will observe, always, a minimum six-inch courtesy buffer between nose and underwear. Whether or not they are, at the time, being worn.
  
• When he chews on the cat and said kitty makes a squeaky noise - this does not mean the cat is a toy. Or that he is enjoying the interaction. One bit.
  
• We already have a doorbell, thank you very much.
  
• In the event he insists on chewing the children's toys, I would very much appreciate it if he gave preference to action figures and plastic weapons.
  
• Glass is flavorless. There is no possible benefit to licking windows.
  
• When I said "clear the table" I didn't mean….oh, never mind.