My boys love dogs.
They love, love, love dogs.
Especially Arthur. Whenever there's a dog out walking with its owner, Arthur almost always asks if he can pet it. He loves his Uncle Johnny's dogs. He often speaks of wanting a dog.
I, however, know that getting a dog now would be like welcoming the flu or some other contagious disease with open arms: a disaster. See, the boys would be excited about said dog for a day or two and then I would be the one walking it, feeding it, cleaning up after it...oh, no, no, no, no, NO.
I like dogs as much as the next person, but if the boys ever got one, they would be the ones taking care of it. End. Of. Story.
Robinson's brother, John-Charles, and his partner, Hugo, live in Ohio. I've mentioned to several people that this is fairly close to us and they look at me like I'm nuts. I guess I've lived in Alaska way too long when I consider a seven-hour drive "close."
Anyway, we invited them to Thanksgiving. They accepted.
And they brought their dog, Patches.
Now, by my tone you probably think I'm some kind of dog-hater. I'm really not, although there are some dogs that are a little too much for me. I like low-key, non-hyper dogs. Growing up, my family only owned one dog and that was a long-haired Dachshund named Schatzi. She was an older dog, so she was pretty mellow, but she was a little dog which meant that whenever anyone came over, she'd bark at the door for about 15 minutes, and even after our guest entered.
Patches is about 15 years old, which is quite ancient in dog years, but this dog has the sweetest disposition I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with. The boys loved her. They loved watching her chase squirrels. They loved watching her eat. They loved sneaking her food (yes, they did...so sorry, John-Charles and Hugo!). They loved petting her. And they loved all the doggie kisses she gave them. They want to see her again. And soon.
While we're hoping for a trip next summer, we'll still be waiting on a dog for our family.
Someday, boys, I promise.
Blessed be.
They love, love, love dogs.
Especially Arthur. Whenever there's a dog out walking with its owner, Arthur almost always asks if he can pet it. He loves his Uncle Johnny's dogs. He often speaks of wanting a dog.
I, however, know that getting a dog now would be like welcoming the flu or some other contagious disease with open arms: a disaster. See, the boys would be excited about said dog for a day or two and then I would be the one walking it, feeding it, cleaning up after it...oh, no, no, no, no, NO.
I like dogs as much as the next person, but if the boys ever got one, they would be the ones taking care of it. End. Of. Story.
Robinson's brother, John-Charles, and his partner, Hugo, live in Ohio. I've mentioned to several people that this is fairly close to us and they look at me like I'm nuts. I guess I've lived in Alaska way too long when I consider a seven-hour drive "close."
Anyway, we invited them to Thanksgiving. They accepted.
And they brought their dog, Patches.
Now, by my tone you probably think I'm some kind of dog-hater. I'm really not, although there are some dogs that are a little too much for me. I like low-key, non-hyper dogs. Growing up, my family only owned one dog and that was a long-haired Dachshund named Schatzi. She was an older dog, so she was pretty mellow, but she was a little dog which meant that whenever anyone came over, she'd bark at the door for about 15 minutes, and even after our guest entered.
Patches is about 15 years old, which is quite ancient in dog years, but this dog has the sweetest disposition I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with. The boys loved her. They loved watching her chase squirrels. They loved watching her eat. They loved sneaking her food (yes, they did...so sorry, John-Charles and Hugo!). They loved petting her. And they loved all the doggie kisses she gave them. They want to see her again. And soon.While we're hoping for a trip next summer, we'll still be waiting on a dog for our family.
Someday, boys, I promise.
Blessed be.
