Fine, you all got your way, and I hope you are happy about it. In less than three hours I will no longer be living the leisurely and charmed life of the dog free. Actually I don't know that any of you wanted it that way. Perhaps you cared little enough to want it no way at all, but Mike wanted it that way, and while I always feel it my duty to throw out the occasional plea, faint protest, or word of common sense. I also know that these tactics do little more than delay the inevitable, and I did manage to delay reintroducing a dog into our lives for all of seven or eight months. That is as long as I had the strength to ward them off (or rather, the strength to kick against Mike's happiness) -- especially when I feel that my energy is best focused on doing all I can to prevent a milk cow from being in my future.
And, really, my husband is of the type who doesn't see a home as a home or a family as a family with out a dog in the equation. I know this about him and I love him so all I can do is sigh sadly and wring my hands a little and tell him to do what he must. And he was VERY convincing talking me into this particular dog. It is a Newfoundland/St. Bernard mix. I have always preferred big dogs to little (and this dog is nothing if not big), but he didn't use that to win me over. He didn't even talk about how they are the "baby sitter" dogs, or how they save drowning people, or how much my sister loves her Newfies. No, he chose a far more convincing angle when he told me: "The lady that is selling him bought him because they have cougars around there, and she thought he would scare them off. And just think, Nancy, not even one of her kids has been eaten by a cougar since she bought him." Really, what could I say to that?
Anyway, he has left me here all alone (well, if being here with five kids can be considered all alone) with nothing to do (I mean, of course, nothing except finish my book, catch up on email, and clean the whole house up) while he is off to get our new dog. He assured me I didn't need to be too sad about him getting home late -- he promised he'd wake me so I could help him move the dog house into the backyard.
Lest some of you are wondering what my problem with dogs is: I don't really have a problem with dogs. I love dogs. I mean, I don't love to actually pet them, but I like the idea of a loyal dog around. It is just that both Mike and I grew up with dream dogs (Lucky and Festus) and envisioned such a perfect companion when we bought our first ever dog not long after being married. Unfortunately, we have had miserable dog experiences -- from howls all night, to many running mishaps (Mike knows the look of "don't push your luck" that he now gets when he suggest a dog go running with me), to a neighbor practically being attacked, well, to a whole lot of all around nonsense. Sigh.
Here is to hoping new dog is a Festus (yah, I know, cool name -- he was the best).