For the better part of the last five months Aaron has been searching for a family dog. The thought of a dog in our house makes me cringe. I've never wanted the smell, the work and the responsibility of caring for an animal. But for about three seconds one day I mentioned how nice Nicole's friend's new reject service dog was and I cracked the door just enough to warrant lots of Craigslist searches of breeds and options for our family. Somehow we survived Christmas, I tried really hard to buy things I knew they wanted but still mother-approved, distraction? Yes, absolutely. Yet, just as I feared, I still became the mean mom who didn't get the one present all the kids (and husband) wrote on their lists for Santa. Well, in my defense I did buy a huge stuffed animal dog. I mean, I'm not that heartless.
A little before Christmas Damian brought over the Broesder's dog Shep for a playdate. That's when I knew...I still, most emphatically, did NOT want a dog. I had a dog growing up and I loved it. But my adult understanding of mess and effort trumped the cliche that every child needs a pretty golden retriever playing ball on their beautifully manicured grass.
I never thought Aaron would be the type to bring a dog home without the full go ahead, but I guess when your next door neighbor/partner in crime/business partner/brother-in-law and serious dog lover finds the one he's been dreaming of, he's hard to say no to. He's even offered to keep it at his desk at work all day.
I pulled up to find the two of them sheepishly holding onto the collar, waiting for my reaction. I didn't say much. I just shook my head and haven't decided what to think yet. I'm letting it all soak in.
The kids are thrilled. He seriously loves Noah. Mary is already a little less scared. He's young, seven months old, and playful but very sweet. He's not my preferred dog type. I said he was a little ugly and Nicole quickly corrected me saying it wasn't very nice. She's right. However, he does smell and he hasn't mastered not jumping on the furniture. But he knows how to obey some commands, like 'sit', and 'go potty', which is nice.
We can't figure out what to call him. His name is Barnaby and he's a King Charles Spaniel. The kids can't seem to remember Barnaby. They've called him Charles, King, Joe, and even Barbie all evening.
Right now he's sitting at the bottom of the newly purchased soft cozy blanket draped across my lap.
Ahhh, everyone is cuter when they're sleeping. I guess he can sit here.
I just got a whiff of dog.
Oh boy.
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