Puppy Feet

BIG puppy feet, especially for an 8 week old.  We have a new family member - just a matter of days after the conversations that went back and forth about having had three dogs most of our married life; about the two we have being afraid to play with one another; and culminating with my comment that some days I wanted a third, some days I didn't want any.

When the ad came up for the puppies, my Oldtimer was instantly in love.  I hesitated.  Too much work, I said.  All that potty training and night time crying and accidents and limitations and, and...  And twenty minutes later we were in the car and looking at puppies.  This fuzzy bundle was the first we pulled from the pile of squirmiing sleepers.  Love at first sight.

Our second night's sleep was already better than the first.  He seems smart enough to try to hide the accidents in the house, in the room we use the least.  He's a fast little devil.

Names came and went - but as he played tug-of-war with one of Molly's old toys the first morning, it became clear that Tug was the perfect name, not only because of his attitude now, but because of how it will fit with the bruiser we expect him to become.

As to his new siblings...  Rosco is unnerved, Molly has apparently forgotten what it's like to have a furry playmate, and Cosmo hisses and looks longingly at the house next door, waiting for the seasonal residents to return.

As to the work load - I knew it was going to be high, but I had forgotten entirely how that level of high alert feels, the constant on-watch issues, and the need to let the other siblings know they are still loved. My Oldtimer has actually skipped golf for the second morning in a row, being the good supportive new parent hs is.  Despite that, I'm exhausted - and have no regrets.