It’s been a dog-dominated, sleep-deprived weekend. I asked my wife if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
“No,” she replied, “I’ve bitten off more than I thought, but I can still chew it.”
I’m not sure that this says more about my wife’s determination or her dietary habits.
Or her gob capacity.
And right now, I’m too tired to care.
Colin is here and it’s like having a new baby in the house. Excitement, no sleep, apparently random defaecation events and a check up at the vet. (Yes, we were actually so tired after our daughter was born that we once took her to the vet. She’s now the only six year old in Cape Town who is vaccinated against distemper.)
Colin is officially called Tigger by the rest of the family, because the breeder told us that she was the bounciest of the litter.
She’s already made the place her own and I’ve consequently resigned myself to fifth place in the house (still just ahead of the goldfish).
For years I’ve managed to resist the demands of my wife. Most specifically, the demand where she wants a dog, that is.
But like the gradual erosion of the solid and steadfast rocks by the cold, relentless ocean, I have apparently crumbled.
This is Colin, (Colin is a girl dog, by the way) who will be joining us Chez 6000 in a couple of weeks time. I remain rather unsure about the whole thing, but the rest of the family wants and the science proves that kids benefit from having pets (although the science doesn’t mention chewed shoes, hair everywhere or that smell) and so I have reluctantly given in.
Yes, I’ll freely admit that Colin is rather cute, but at least part of that opinion probably stems from the fact that Colin isn’t crapping all over my kitchen floor.
This isn’t going to turn into a Colin blog, but if everything goes according to plan (or even more likely, if it doesn’t), you’ll almost certainly find some references to her at some point or points in the future.
Let it be known that Project Colin began here.