I didn’t want a puppy, nope – maybe a dog, but not a puppy.

Because…puppies poop.  And chew.  And whine.  And cry.  And poop.

But, then he gave me the puppy dog eyes.  Both of them did, the dog and Steven.  And I felt bad because here was a homeless puppy and my husband who’d never had his very own puppy (that he got to pick out and name).

But, then I felt better again and told him NO.

And then he said “But, I’ll take care of him.  He’ll be my dog.  My responsibility.  You don’t have to do a thing.”

So, I relented.  (Stupidstupidstupid!)

And during the ten minutes that my sanity had left me, my husband managed to adopt a dog.

It wasn’t until later that I realized I’d been dooped.  Totally dooped.  I wondered out loud if he would be taking this new puppy to work, and was  met by an incredulous look.  “To work?  Uh no!” He said.

So much for me doing nothing.  Crap.

And, so it began.  This love-hate relationship with the puppy-shark.  And, as we began thinking of uber cool names, my best offers were immediately shot down.

Personally, I thought Jaws, Mr. Hyde, and Shitter would all be very appropriate names.

Instead, he was named Chance.

But, really…he’s a good puppy.  For a puppy, that is.  I mean, when he’s not chewing my arm or the cords to my Mac or trying to be a punk to the rest of the petting zoo that I already own…

He’s actually really sweet when he sleeps…

And, okay…he’s kinda cute when he races Lorelei…

until he wants to chew on her food, which royally pisses her off.

Welcome back!