Mine began too early since today is Mamie’s day to no longer produce puppies. Vet appointment for spaying is at 7:45.
We began with spectacular success: we took our outside trip up to mailbox for the paper, and she peed! This dog came to us trained to use pee pads in the house, which seems to be working, but I still think it’s weird so I’m very happy to actually witness a morning pee on grass as God intended. We pranced back to the house, both of our tails wagging.
Things were looking auspicious until upon checking my email I came to the Washington Post’s first headline for day:
Toddler suffocated under beanbag chair as day-care employee sat on it reading to the other children. Good grief. A projected afternoon with a drugged and coned dog who is still adjusting to living here now looks like a breeze.
Update – Dropped the dog off at the vet, where I’ll likely later be donating a kidney in order to pay for spaying, tartar scraping, and chip implanting this "free" dog. From there I went to a nearby discount store to pick up a vet-recommended dog crate in the hope that it will stem the separation-anxiety barking.
I strolled about, looking at merchandise I didn’t need and couldn’t use, but which still was tempting because it was cheap. All done, I wheeled my dog crate to the care and looked down for the first time that day. Apparently this new dog ownership has moved me to the distracted-mother-of-kids category, the women who find themselves at the bus stop with a pop tart stuck to their sweatshirt, or halfway to the grocery store in slippers.
I had rolled up my jeans to avoid wet cuffs during the 6:00 amtrip across the yard to the mailbox and had continued this fashion-forward look for the rest of the morning.