Sane People Do Not Get Puppies Very Often

This is what my friend Bobbi said when I told her that we were getting a puppy. She then immediately moved to wondering when she could come over to see said puppy, whom we have since named Eleanor. Regardless of insanity, it’s hard to not love a puppy, especially when you don’t have to worry about potty training and the constant admonitions to not eat or do something. Insanity, thy name is Erin. And she wears you well.

In what is best described as a very trying year, Eleanor has been a burst of sunshine. She has puppy tummy and puppy breath. She is sweet, playful, good-natured, and yes, more than a bit demonic. All of the houseplants have been moved to tables, and I’ve developed the sudden capability of picking up after myself. (Or trying to. Eleanor was spotted last night with one of my socks in her mouth.) But everyone stops to see her and pick her up, and no matter how mouthy she is, it’s impossible to not love her.

For such a small dog, Eleanor has had a big life. She’s already flown from Billings down to Austin. She went paddleboarding out on Lake Austin. She practiced swimming in the pool. Her friend Aixa came over to visit (nothing like a female German Sheperd to teach a young pup some manners.) Additionally, our house in littered with dog toys, and we’re attuned to her slightest movement at night in case the wee demon needs to go outside. Thus far, I’ve rescued new rolls of toilet paper, countless socks, pecan fragments, wood chips, and bath mats from her jaws of despair. Fortunately, she loves ice cubes, and our kitchen has seems to have turned into a hockey rink overnight. There are worse habits, I suppose, and I’m suddenly remembering all of the things that Reba and Muddy ate when they were young.

And yes, the force of bacon is strong with this one. Much like her predecessor, Muddy, Eleanor sat at attention when I fried up some bacon for last evening’s supper. Something tells me that once she is big enough to counter surf, I’ll need to be even more vigilant. I remember what happens to unattended bacon. And turkey. And jeans. And shoes. And sunglasses. And Raggedy Anns. And socks. And cords. And chocolate. (You get the point.)

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