Good news! One of the puppies born is mine! I get the only male, he’s red in color (my fave) and will likely mature to be between 25-40 pounds. Perfect!
I haven’t gotten any photos yet so I’m satisfying my need for fresh puppy meat by cruising the internet for photos.
Now comes the hard part. Well, parts. The waiting part is hard and the naming part is hard. I’m taking JJ’s advice and picking several.
I’m sure I’ve been over this but I met JJ when I moved to Boulder, she was a next door neighbor and enjoyed sewing and crafting. We’ve stayed in touch over the last 26 (!!!!) years and I still value her advice.
She’s one of those annoying people who has very strong opinions (she says stuff like, “never never never” and “always always always”) and is usually right.
She said I should pick out a few names so here’s the short(ish) list:
Beau, Mars, Reggie, Truffle, Oliver, Scout, Brick, Jude, Virgil, Hawk, Monk, Papa, Shorty, Beasley, Chief, Shag, Gibson, Smooch, Rhubarb
I’m leaning towards Rhubarb, Papa, Truffle and Smooch. Papa Smooch?
Names have so much baggage. I like the names Oliver and Chief but I had cats with those names so that’s not cool. I love Smooch but I dated a guy who had a dog named Smoot, is that okay? It might have to be. I like Beasley but the short version is Bee and my neighbor has a dog named Bee. Rhubarb is cute but Barbie is a girl’s name.
WHY IS THIS SO HARD?!
Today is the 4th of July and do you know what I’m not going to do? Watch fireworks. I’m not going to knock around a park for hours answering “how much longer” every five minutes. I’m not going to bake atop a parking structure in the sun. I’m not going kill time as we wait for the damn show to start. Not gonna do it.
Nope. Today I went up to Cal-wood with Loony and his butterfly count group.
We brought our kids to the 4th of July Butterfly Count for ages, easily since they were three years-old. I was going to pass on it but Loony wanted to go regardless. I ditched the counters and went on a long hike by myself.
I visited our traditional haunts – the mica mine the swimming hole – and I was struck by how much closer they seemed. I guess toting a baby on my back or on my hip, or dragging a reluctant toddler, makes any distance seem longer. Nonetheless, I got a ten mile hike in and then led an impromptu stretching session with some of the ladies who flamed out on chasing butterflies.
We got home around 4:00 and I chilled on the porch with the ‘mules.
The porch was perfection. It was shady, there was a cool breeze, it was like being in the womb.
Loony and I walked down to the pub for dinner and we are going to watch Get Out.
It’s supposed to be super scary and will probably make me feel like an asshole as I recognize all the creepy overcompensating bullshit I do around African Americans because I’m ignorant and try too hard but hey, I’m going there. In fact, it seems like a mighty right thing to do on this holiday.