Lucy
We’ve had Lucy for a week now, and life? it’s okay. I mean, she’s alright: The cuddling on our laps for hours gets kind of old when our legs fall asleep, and the puppy kisses are a little wet, and that wiggly butt sometimes looks like it’s going to fall off, and her wanting to play precludes us doing anything useful, but we’re dealing with it as best we can.
And while her brain will never be in the Doggie Hall of Fame, last night did mark the first time she asked, via pawing at the door, to be let out to use the turf facilities, and it was the fourth night in a row she slept mostly through the night, and the fifth night that I haven’t had to do doggie laundry in the middle of the night, if you know what I mean. So, I call that success.
Slightly less successful — depending on your perspective, and this is mine — is that if you leave the zippers on the collapsible crate near the bottom, she can work them apart and get out, thus provoking a frantic search for (1) her, and (2) any wayward fluids that may have been — inadvertently, I am sure — discharged during the outing. However, her brain cells haven’t quite mustered the stamina to account for the zippers being up in the high corner, so I think we’re safe. For a couple days, anyway.
For now, she’s sleeping in her crate (voluntarily, I might add), surrounded by her favorite toys: Faux Squirrel, Squeaky Sheep, and Mr. Bone. I don’t want to wake her with the flash, so no photo of that, but here’s what she looked like a couple days ago in the grass:
So I guess we’ll keep her. I mean, we’re kind of stuck with her now, so we might as well.
Awww. I very much look forward to meeting Lucy.
And excellent Banff photos!
Reply