So, the new kid arrived. Unlike all the other new things that come to the house, the man in the brown uniform didn’t ring the bell and leave it at the doorstep for me to bark at incessantly. It just kind of appeared and without any warning. Unless all those months of “Ohhh you don’t know what you’re in for!” followed by a pat on the head was considered my warning. But, warning or not, it’s here.

The new kid sleeps a lot. There’s a lot of chatter about not waking a sleeping baby. They also say similar dumb phrases in regards to me when I’m snoozing. Something about letting sleeping dogs lie? But anyway, it’s kind of boring and stays pretty quiet usually.

But then there are the times when it screams louder than I do when my tail gets stepped on. Oh my Dog, it screams so loud! Usually, it screams after it’s been sleeping for a long time and it won’t stop until they shove food in its mouth. Funny, because the food is not in a bowl that it sticks its head into like I have to do. Methinks there is some favoritism.

It also screams when it’s up on the table with its legs apart. I can smell something delicious whenever that happens, but I wonder if something’s wrong with my nose because they’re always saying how gross it smells. I hope I’m not mistaken and my terrier nose is not failing me at such a young age because it really does smell as lovely as the fire hydrants, the grass on my walk, and the trash I sometimes get into when they’re not looking (suckers).

Oh, and speaking of walk, it looks as though we have company. Finally, she’s walking again after having a gigantic stomach for the past 40 or so weeks. It’s about time. Someone must have told her she was looking quite round and now she’s walking and bringing her with me again, which on one hand is glorious, but on the other hand, I have to share a sidewalk with the new kid which is in a mini car I constantly have to dodge. The first few times she brought me and the kid out on a walk with her, I got tangled up in the wheels and shrieked and then got yelled at for “not being careful.” Well excuse me! I am in a hurry. I must get to the tree and make sure everyone knows it’s mine before the new kid gets to it. I’m learning, though, that the new kid is not interested in claiming the trees, so I’m a little more relaxed on the walks now. Oh, and her stomach went back to normal after the kid got here, so obviously the walks are working.

The new kid now sleeps in its own room and the best part is that when I want a place to hide and have some “me” time, I go under its cage and lay there watching their feet walk around. A long time ago, before I got here, I used to be in a cage and it was really dark and quite uncomfortable. The new kid’s cage is really nice. It’s white and has colorful (so I’m told. I’m colorblind) patterns draping from it. And best of all, it’s open on top. Lucky! My cage never had an open top.

Once in a while, they take the kid and lay it on its stomach on a soft blanket and I like to lay down next to it and get my fair share of the cushiony comfort. They always try to take my picture when I do this and squeal things like, “Look how cute!” and “Ohhh he loves her!” I don’t know what any of this means. Really, I just like the soft blanket.

But I think I don’t mind the new kid anyway. I mean, it hasn’t done anything to me! I’m doing just fine. I still get my food. I still get the belly scratches and the walks. I still have to perform my stupid tricks to get the beef-flavored treats. And at the end of the day, who’s the one that still sleeps in the big bed between them and tucked in all cozy-like in the pillows?

Me.

May 25 is the anniversary of our marriage, yes, but also the anniversary of something very important and life-changing. A conception. It was the day I found out that I would be having something little to cuddle and take care of. A new generation for Bryan and me to raise and watch grow. A bundle of joy that would provide us a lifetime of laughter and love. Yes, May 25, 2008 was the day we conceived.

DOR (Date of Rescue): June 29, 2008

10 pounds

About 18 inches long

The parents are proud and happy, though a little sleepless.

Yes, that’s right, we have a new baby in the house and it’s our 8 to 12-month-old bundle of furry joy. We’d been looking for a dog pretty much since the wedding. Well, scratch that, I’VE been looking for a dog pretty much since my first dog passed away 10 years ago, but the time was never right; my parents didn’t want a new one, I went off to college, I moved into my friend’s house where she already had a dog and then I moved into my fiancee’s house and he hates dogs. Hated dogs.

B knew how much a little doggie in my life would warm my heart but vowed never to assist in the parenting. He never grew up with a dog and didn’t understand why they are wonderful additions to an already-happy life. This had been a point of contention for us during our courtship and engagement time and I finally realized, reluctantly, that he could never be a changed man and if I ever had a dog, it would be mine and not ours. That made me sad, but a girl’s gotta chase her dreams like a dog chases his tail.

Fast forward to the wedding day. It came time for our Best of Honor to deliver the bride and groom gifts to the bride and groom. When the best man brought me a black velvet necklace box that appeared to have housed the pearl necklace I so wanted to wear on the wedding day, I was in for a bigger surprise.

The best man handed me the box.

And I quickly opened it expecting to put on the pearls my dress was screaming to be friends with.

But instead, strewn along the inside of the box, was a silver choke chain that would complement a motorcycle bride much better than a country club bride. Was I supposed to WEAR this?! On the silver chain was a silver bone. Seriously? A BONE? My almost-husband thinks I’m a dog? Oh wait, the bone has an engraving… “Our First Puppy” What? We don’t HAVE a puppy, smarty!

Oh, but look! The lid of the box says something! There’s a note!

It says: Alison, my love. Will you get a dog with me? I’m ready when you are.

The waterworks started! I cried like a baby. My almost-husband, the love of my life, the stubborn, stubborn man who convinced himself he’d never be a pet owner, the handsome loving man who thought I was crazy for adoring 4-legged fur balls, MY almost-husband had changed. He thought deep down inside of himself and did some soul searching to realize that we could create a very special home together with a dog’s company.

I melted.

During our honeymoon, we frolicked along the beaches of Hawaii, brainstorming names for our pooch. No, we hadn’t gotten him yet, but we wanted to fantasize about all the joy he’d bring. We decided we would definitely rescue a dog (no pet stores or breeders for us!) and it would not shed or drool, so that ruled out really big dogs. A small, lap dog that just wants to walk and be held would be perfect for us.

We started the search when we got back to the mainland and found a lot of promising pups online, but the websites hadn’t been updated so they’d already been adopted – GREAT! (no really, that makes me so happy for them!!!) We found Beethoven online who was 7 weeks old a a terrier-lhasapoo mix. We met him and he was absolutely adorable. I could have taken him home that very night. We both enjoyed him so much but we had an appointment with another dog named Kiko who was 7 or 8 months old. We decided to meet Kiko first and then decide. Plus, we weren’t totally confident about raising something so fresh like Beethoven.

We met the foster mom in Cerritos since she was coming from Anaheim and we were coming from Venice. Kiko was shy at first but he was really cute and seemed to have a nice personality. We spent three hours with him and basically grilled the foster mom about all the details of his temperament and lifestyle. I could see that B was bonding with him and seemed to be more excited about Kiko than he was when he met Beethoven. We ultimately decided that raising a 7-week old would not be as easy as raising an 8-month old so I took out the checkbook and Kiko nervously trotted to our car, unsure about what his new life would be.

Here’s our first family photo:

According to the rescue organization, Kiko was picked up by the animal shelter and was there for a while until the rescue organization saved him. He was in foster care for about 3 months until the day we met him.

We renamed Kiko after the lead puppet character from one of our favorite musicals, Avenue Q!

Princeton learned his name very quickly and has been responding quite well to it!

We gave him a bath when we got home and while he didn’t really love it, he didn’t fight me and he just kind of let me do it. He smelled so much better after!

Princeton is very sweet and really enjoys following us around the house and playing with us. He’s kind of a mama’s boy and follows my every move, which is cute, but I want him to be able to be independently happy since I won’t be here 24/7 with him.

He rides well in the car but doesn’t walk so great. He loves to sniff every blade of grass and is very curious about every element on the sidewalk. The terrier in him is so obvious on our walks. Apparently, his foster mom didn’t walk him much so he’s not used to being on a leash. Thankfully, I’ve gotten into watching the genius, Cesar Millan on the Dog Whisperer and I’m trying to train him that I’m the pack leader and he needs to not walk ahead of me. It’s tough, but sometimes he does a good job and nothing makes me happier than praising him for being a good boy!

Only problem is that Princeton isn’t eating and that worries me a little, but the vet said that it’s normal for a dog in a new environment to ignore his food. I wonder how long we should wait until it becomes a serious issue. Not to mention, it limits our opportunities to praise him for going potty outside (he’s done it 3 times and I’m surprised none of you readers could hear the potty party we threw on the spot!) since obviously he’s not producing, um, the “goods” for which to go potty since he’s not eating. Anyway, that’s our current challenge. That, and the fact that he keeps waking up at 6:30 a.m. and I immediately and groggily take him out for fear of him peeing and pooping in the house. Of course, he doesn’t actually GO on the way-too-early in the morning walk so … that’s that.

Life with Princeton is fun. B and I enjoy parenting him despite the challenges and hope that he grows into a good and mature doggie.

Oh, and p.s., my knight-in-shining armor almost-husband came through and also gifted me the pearls! After the dog excitement, the best man handed me another identical box and said quite casually in his witty way “oh, and you may want this, too.” I opened the box and sure enough, glistening in their glory, a stunning 16” strand of perfect pearls.

I love all the men in my life: Princeton, B – my now-husband, and even our best man because he obviously carries valuable and memorable items with him. 🙂

Don’t read too much into the title of this blog post. It’s not what you think. See, I really love my parents and they really love me. And even though people say I’m going to be jealous because of all the attention and what not, the only shooting of the baby will be with a camera.

The reason I know this is because the new fancy shmancy camera that Dad bought has been in my face non stop. Can’t a dog rest on the couch without being photographed? He’s practicing on me, which means I’m just the guinnea… dog. Lucky for them, I’m extremely photogenic and funny and handsome and entertaining, so even as a beginner, Dad can’t really mess up too badly.

Still, though, he’s spent a lot of time typing and staring at the mini light-up TV on his desk (a computer, they call it?), researching and learning about techy terms like “depth of field,” and “aperture,” and “white balance.” Look, I know words like “sit,” “stay,” and “bang bang,” and those seem much more practical because at least I get food when I do them. Dad doesn’t get food when he learns his new words. He just picks up the camera and does more work.

So anyway, this leads me to my first time in a hotel room. They snuck me in like I was a kidnapped human by putting me in a bag and draping a blanket over my head. Mom thought she was being slick, but any idiot knows there’s a dog breathing and wriggling in there. So they took me to this hotel and I sniffed every corner of the room we were in (which was GIANT) and my doggie nose won’t even go into detail about all the smells I picked up because you humans will be glad you’re humans with lame noses. I had no idea where we were until we started walking around town.

They took me to wine country up in Santa Ynez. Why they’d go to WINE country when 2/3 of our party can’t drink alcohol is beyond me. Oh yeah. The pictures. The whole weekend was a camera love fest and yours truly was the star. Sometimes mom would jump in the pictures, but usually, they’d just put me in these ridiculous poses, look at the screen on the camera, laugh, and be really proud of themselves for their clever idea… at my expense. It’s really difficult being this cute.

The new kid that’s coming in August better be ready to be shoved in clogs and wooden soldier cutouts all for the sake of a photograph. Glad someone else will relieve me of my on-camera duties. Then I can just go back to living the life of a lazy dog.

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