May 7, 2012 by themommahen
So let’s just get it over with.
Yes, I’ve been gone a while. I haven’t written very much and I’m not sure why, because I have at least five brilliant thoughts a day for posts. Unfortunately, life interferes with my writing. Which is ironic since life is also what feeds my writing. But, such is life (ha!) and writing for me, and as I said to one friend in an email, I don’t know how other writers do it. I choose time with my kids and sleep over writing almost every time. And that’s not to say others choose blogging over time with their kids (though I know for a fact that many do choose writing over sleep), I only mean that I really don’t know how they do it in addition to taking care of their kids and everything else that goes along with it. And throw in a paying job and my head might pop off just thinking about how to write in the midst of all that. I mean, that’s why I didn’t start a blog until I didn’t work outside the home anymore. So until I totally figure that out, or until someone is paying me again to do some writing, there may be some absences here and there.
Adding to that, the past couple of weeks at our house have included pink eye, eye drop trauma, horrible pollen allergies, awesome visits from dear friends, more pink eye, doctor visits, more eye drop trauma, soccer games, school field trips, yet more pink eye, a new puppy…
What’s that? You were with me until I mentioned the new puppy thing? Felt sorry for me or at least you were able to empathize with me up to that point? I don’t blame you. I’m a sucker and I know it.
It all started innocently enough (don’t all puppy stories start out that way?) with us on our way to a customer appreciation picnic at Lilly Den Farm, an awesome local farm that we buy almost all our meat from. (In fact, as I write this, I realize I can’t remember the last time we bought conventional meat from a grocery store…interesting.)
We went to the picnic with good food on our minds and left with a mutt in our arms.
Now you might remember that my background is in marketing and PR. I have worked with some of the best in their field. Giants of the industry. Brands of all brands. The Puppy Lady can give any of them a run for their money.
I don’t even know her name. What I know is she was savvy enough to go to that customer appreciation picnic, where she knew there would be big-hearted animal lovers, good ol’ Southern folk, transplanted Yankees, liberals, conservatives, the tatooed, the pierced, young families with kids…in other words, a broad target market for her product: puppies who needed a home, pronto. She had them in the middle of the yard, all snuggly and cuddled up with each other, all so darn cute in their puppiness.
I paid them no mind. Didn’t even give them a second thought. The Hatchlings played with them, pet them, held them, but I wasn’t worried. The thought of taking one home didn’t even cross my mind. For a year and a half – the entire time we’ve been down here – I’ve said no way to another dog.
Our last rescue dog, a retired racing Greyhound, was awesome. Best dog ever. And I absolutely love dogs, but one more thing to take care of, clean up after, “potty” train, feed, water, doctor, keep alive? Hell no, thank you very much.
Best. Dog. EVER.
(Unless we’re talking about another Hatchling, but that’s a whole different post. And no, I’m not pregnant. Yes, I may be a bit imbalanced. Hence, the reason for this post.)
Where was I? Oh, right, hell no, thank you very much.
As we chatted with some new friends we met at the picnic, I began to notice that H#1 and 2 seemed to be more and more taken with the puppies. I still wasn’t worried. Then, in mid-sip of my beer and mid-conversation, I felt a warm furry thing in my lap. The Puppy Lady had placed one in my lap. In. my. LAP. And H#1, obviously her co-conspirator, started with the octuple-E-pleases.
Pleeeeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease? Mommmmmyyyyyyyyyyy, pleeeeeeeease?!
Then H#2 took his cue from her and he started in.
Pleeeeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease? Daaaaddddddddyyyyyyyyyyy, pleeeeeeeease?!
I should’ve known we were doomed, but I still naively thought we could deflect the assault. Then The Husband did it. He broke rank.
“It’s up to your mother.”
The Puppy Lady hungrily turned to me, my cover blown. Now she knew who the holdout was. She started in on me, telling me how cute, how small, they won’t grow very big, there’s only one boy, wire hair, easy disposition, so sweet, yadda, yadda, yadda. I looked at her and said, “You just put a puppy in my lap–that’s evil!”
She looked me dead in the eye and said, “No, that’s strategy.” Talk about hard ball.
We spent the next hour discussing why we couldn’t get a puppy, why we didn’t need one yet…oh whatever, that’s the boring part of the story. We got one. A her. To protect her Internet profile, I’ll call her Furball #1.
Introducing Patchblack. Yes, Patchblack. H#1 wanted Patch or Patches, H#2 wanted a name that ended in Black. So they compromised, without us even interfering. See? Already paying off. And the Hatchlings are soooooo over the moon, it’s impossible to be bitter about my sucker-born-every-minute moment.
I’ve lost my damn mind. But more on that later. I’ve gotta go let the puppy out.