Christmas 2009, I made the VAST mistake of telling The Kiddo that we could adopt a stray dog that was hanging out at a local store. When said stray had, er, strayed, and as I was faced by a torrent of tears and "but you SAIDs," I made another rash promise: to find her a dog.
It's not like we didn't already have a dog, a big old chocolate Labrador impersonating a Rottweiler. The Kiddo, however, wanted a LITTLE dog. A dog that was JUST hers.
I can admit, now that I'm fab and forty and all grown up and have embraced the philosophy of embracing one's limitations, that I am more of a cat person than a dog person. Don't get me wrong -- I like dogs.
Cats, however, are self-contained and not so needy. They don't call that guilt-inducing look dogs give you "puppy eyes" for nothing.
I'd promised, though, so we got a dog. It's a dachshund/poodle mix -- think a weiner dog with a perm. She's a cute little gal, and wouldn't you know it? The dog has bonded more with me than anybody else. She curls up on my feet at night. She follows every step I make. She won't go out for anybody else, and if it's raining, forget it. Even I can't make her go out very easily. She pulls the old "puppy eyes" trick on me. "Hey, lady," she seems to be saying, "would YOU go potty in the rain?"
Rain is one thing, but snow is quite another. She loves snow (as does the Kiddo, but that's to be expected.) We had a rare "snow event" in February, and a friend of mine caught this pix of her ... shouldn't she be wearing a red cape with a big M for Mighty Dog?