I'm training The Lady, The Man and The Girl pretty well, but there are still a few things that they don’t quite get:

1.  Puppy teeth toughen up slippers.  My family only wears the slipper things in the house.  I guess it’s because slippers aren’t tough enough to wear outside.  Ever since I moved in, I’ve committed myself to toughening up those flimsy things by chewing on them so The Lady, The Man and The Girl can wear slippers outside too.  But what does it get me?  A firm “No Sir!” and a wave of the finger from The Lady -- and even from The Girl!  But I think The Man is starting to understand.  He says “Awww” and giggles when I get a hold of his slippers…finally -- some appreciation!

2.  The rabbits want me to play with them.  A family of rabbits lives under a bush near my special area of the yard; and they'd like to play a game of Chase with me.  I just know they want to play -- why else would they sit so still whenever they see me?  You see, every game of Chase needs a good chasing route, and when the rabbits are sitting still, they're just thinking up a challenging route for us.  But as soon as we see each other and the route-planning starts, The Lady and The Man say "Leave the rabbits alone, Charley."  And before you know it, the rabbits are gone.  And so is our game of Chase.

The search is over:  Charley found us; and we're proud to announce that we're new parents and GG's the new big sister of Charley, a four-month old Shih-Poo.   

I say he found us because we had actually answered Sunday's newspaper ad in response to a different puppy.  On Monday, before we went to check the puppy out, both Jamie & I agreed that if the puppy we were going to see was "the one," we'd get him, but if not, then we knew that it just wasn't meant to be.  Well, the puppy that we went to see wasn't the one, but we saw Charley and he definitely was.  We made arrangements to pick him up on Friday afternoon.

It's amazing how much preparing for a puppy's arrival is like preparing for a new baby.  I had to submit my PTO request (called FMLA when a baby's on the way).  I thought about how, like GG, he was coming to us with nothing but a birthday suit.  He needed a crate, collar, leash, food, toys, grooming stuff, cleaning products for the inevitable potty training accidents; so Tuesday afternoon, I spent my lunch hour (and a good chunk of cash) at PetCo.  Even before that, I bought "Raising Puppies for Dummies" and "Raising Puppies & Kids Together:  A Guide for Parents."  Reminds me of reading the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" series before GG got here.  Then we had to select a vet.  GG's Godmother provided us with a referral and I immediately scheduled his appointment for this Monday.  And of course, we had the name dilemma:  I thought he was a Charley right away.  Jamie thought maybe he was a Mack...or a Pierre.  GG wanted to name him after a boy in her class.  But he's a Charley and the name stuck.

Anyway, Charley's home now; and for a first night away from his puppy buddies, I think he did quite well.  I was expecting much more yelping, but he seemed quite content.  Then 5:00a rolled around and Jamie did the "go outside duty" -- again, just makes me think of those early morning feedings with GG.  Speaking of GG, she's ecstatic, and being such a gentle little soul.  She's read "Clifford the Small Red Puppy" to Charley," and has helped me out with feeding and watering him.

Charley's a sweet little guy, and it's going to be very exciting to see what life is going to be like from now on with that not-so-familiar pitter-patter. 

We're expecting.  This is how I found out about it.

A few weeks ago when GG had gone to bed, my husband and I were chatting when he said "Just so you know (followed by the most pregnant of pauses ever known to man)....I told GG she could have a puppy for her birthday."

Since I didn't want to be forever known as the Wicked Witch who's the killer of puppy dreams, I accepted -- and even embraced -- our expecting status.  So yes, we are expecting: a puppy.  Which to me is pretty much like a baby -- except puppies are weaned and can walk at eight weeks old.

Now, my acceptance of our new family member was based upon two conditions: 1.) that I select the breed; and 2.) that said breed will be small enough to believe that our house is a mansion and that our backyard is a park.  And because GG has a December birthday, and I don't intend to begin potty training while the snow is flying, our new arrival should arrive sooner than later.  Thus, my search for the perfect puppy has begun. 

I grew up with big dogs and don't know a whole lot about the little ones, so researching these little guys or girls is essential -- and the research alone is proving to be an experience in of itself: there's Morkies, Schnorkies, Dorkies, Schnoodles, Doodles, Doxiepoos, Teddy Bears, you name it.  Then there's the research to find breed personalities that mesh with our lifestyle.  For instance, I know that we're all pretty tuckered out by the end of the day. Cocker spaniels (adorable as they are) are genetically disposed to be high energy and would not work well with us.  Alternately, my research and advice from a dog enthusiast points to the Bichon Frise.  Laid back, needing moderate exercise, the Bichon Frise would be a perfect lifestyle match for our family.  Only thing is, Jamie isn't crazy about them.  So it looks like researching and identifying the right match BEFORE the snow flies AND making everyone happy is going to be my new part-time job.

Sometimes I think having another baby -- the kind that learns to walk at two years old on two legs -- would be easier.

Early last week, I came home to find two new members of the family:  "Bubbly" and "Tink," the goldfish that Jamie and GG brought home from a nearby pet store.  These were "replacement pets," promised to GG upon the untimely demise of her African Dwarf Frogs -- Irie, Nemo, Adjulasia -- and another one whose name I can't remember.   Jamie's been pushing fish versus frogs since we made that promise, but I would have preferred frogs because I have a silly, irrational fear of fish.  I know they can't hurt me, but it's just something about them -- the unblinking eyes, the mouths that always do that fishy-open-mouth-thing.  It puts me on the brink of nausea.  Sweaty palms.  Passing out even.  Love smoked salmon, but I just can't look at it.  Swim in a lake or a pond?  Forget it.  Need therapy?  Probably.

It isn't funny.  When I was about GG's age, my brothers had two big goldfish.  As goldfish are apt to do, they died after a couple of days or a week, and like most parents, mine flushed 'em when they did.  Well, I couldn't get those fishy eyes and mouths out of my head, and to top it all off, I knew they were there.  In our toilet.  In perpetuity.  I refused to use our goldfish cemetery for at least three months after that.  Luckily, we had two other bathrooms.

Now, I'm a grown-up and we go to the zoo.  The first place GG always wants to go is the aquarium; and I go because I don't want her seeing me being freakish about fish.  Once we're inside, I start thinking "What if there's a fault line in the glass of these tanks?"  "What would it be like to have all those fish flipping around your feet?"  Then my heart rate starts to speed up and by that time, we've got to move on to any other exhibit.  It really isn't funny.

Anyway, GG loved Bubbly and Tink.  As soon as I came home from work on the day of their arrival, she says "Mom!  Dad and me got goldfish!  Come LOOK at them!"  I glared at Jamie, clenched my sweaty palms and followed GG to her room.  There they were.....eyes and all.  I mustered a smile, swallowed hard, glanced at them and tried to divert my attention to the gravel on the bottom of the tank.  "Aren't they cute?!  Just look at their little EYES."  "Yes, hon.  I see them.  Adorable...Mama's gotta change into some comfy clothes now, okay?"  "But LOOK AT THEM!"  "Mom will, hon.  Later, okay?"

Bubbly and Tink lived happily in GG's room.  Every night, she'd read to them; play music for them and put fish stickers next to their tank, so they could look at the stickers and 'be happy.'  So, it was understandable that she was anxious to see Bubbly and Tink when we got home from our weekend get-away.  We walked in the door and she raced to her room, and......yep.  You guessed it:  Bubbly and Tink were gone.  Crossed over to the Other Side.

There were tears.  From all of us.  Jamie and I knew she loved them, and as parents, we hate -- more than anything -- seeing GG saddened by life's harsh realities.  GG and I went outside to talk about it while Jamie took care of things inside.  We went through the "they're in a better place," "it's okay to cry" and the "we'll always have the memories" talk -- like we did when the frogs died.  The tears soon subsided, and we went on to have lunch.

At lunch, Jamie said a "special prayer" in light of Bubbly and Tink's passing.  I don't know if it was tiredness setting in from our road trip, but when Jamie solemnly said "Bless Bubbly and Tink," and then "we know they're with the frogs now," I got the giggles.  Bad.  By the time he got to the part about us finding new pets, I was a step away from going into a full-blown giggle-snorting fit, but luckily, I was able to hold everything in.

Really -- I'm not a terrible mom; and I do, truly feel bad about Bubbly and Tink's sad ending.  And it isn't funny, life lessons haven't been lost here, but -- hey, wait a minute:

Did he flush Bubbly & Tink?  Oh no.....we've only got one bathroom.

This really isn't funny.