We got a dog on Saturday.
As with most decisions in my life, how it happened is kind of a blur…but here are the basics.
I’ve been thinking about getting a dog for a while, and Mike has been telling me “no” for just as long. We (I) decided it would happen one day, when the kids were older. For the moment, we (Mike) had enough going on to have to worry about a dog.
I let it go, but I would still check out Petfinder.com from time to time to go dog-browsing. It’s kinda like when I surf for real estate porn. Anybody else do this? You look at all the new houses for sale in your city because you’re nosy and you get all judgey and hoity-toity about other people’s homes?
“Well, if there isn’t an en-suite bathroom then I don’t know why you’d bother.”
It’s like House Hunters, but 0n your computer and a LOT more bitchy.
ANYWAY. So I was looking at what dogs were at the Seattle Animal Shelter, and I came across the world’s most perfect dog. It was love at first click.
First of all, his name was already Chewie. Not to be shallow or anything, but that is a kick-ass name for a dog. I, of course, decided right away that it was short for “Chewbacca.” One of Mike’s co-workers, however, informed him that it could also be “Chuy,” which is a Spanish nickname for “Jesus.” I am going to refer to him as “Chewbacca Jesus,” and everyone will be happy.
Second, in his description they said he was a sweetie pie, perfect for a family with kids, and great for a first-time dog owner. CHECK CHECK CHECK!
Third, he is small and deliciously adorable.
People, I lost control. The kids and I had a few hours between activities, so we went down to the shelter to meet him. We cuddled, we played fetch, and I fell in love. Immediately, the campaign to break Mike down began. I sent him some propaganda photos:
And what do you know, it worked!!! Mike is a weak and wonderful man.We put a “hold” on Chewie so no one else could snatch him up, visited again on Saturday, and took him home that afternoon!! And let me tell you — this dog could not be more perfect for our family. He is the sweetest, most mellow dog I have ever met. The kids can get up to all of their hijinks around him and he couldn’t care less — barely even raises his head. They can pet him, play with his tail, yell “Chewie Chewie Chewie Chewie,” and Chewie just kinda says, “Ok.”
Nothing gets a rise out of this dog except for other dogs. The only times I have heard him bark are when he comes into contact with Rocky, the German Shepard next door. Chewie, at a whopping 14 pounds, thinks he is the size of a German Shepard. He ran right over to the fence and let out the most pitiful series of barks while Rocky just looked at him. It’s pretty sad. But I always tell Chewie that Rocky is so scared of him that he can’t even bark back. It makes the little guy pretty proud.
I was a little worried about how he would get along with my two cats, but Chewie seems to think that they are furniture — he has almost walked right into them a few times before course-correcting. Does. Not. Care. The cats, for their part, seem to have resigned themselves to Chewie’s existance. I guess that once the kids arrived and fucked up their once perfect lives, they realized it couldn’t get any worse than that. Chewie is just one more thing messing it all up.
Did I mention that he is already housebroken? And when you rub his belly he purrs like a cat? And he snores like a congested old man? And he is capable of some truly astonishing farts?
I love this dog.