Nacho Cheese

You know that feeling where you “should” be done having kids but you don’t really want to be done having kids? That “maybe just one more” feeling? Well, I don't get that feeling. Except when it comes to tacos, pizza, garlic bread, and ice cream sandwiches. Aaaaand… puppies.

See, I’ve been trying to convince Daddy Mack that we should get another dog.

Here’s a little backstory. I LOVE dogs. I've always had a dog in my life. I come from a long line of dog-lovers. We were always a one-dog family, except for this short period where we had two - Madeline and Pepper - and it was a total shit-show so we pawned Pepper off on a family friend. Since then, I always just assumed I’d be a one-dog kind of gal.

I bought Blue in college. (Gasp. Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone. This was before I was a humane society volunteer and had been inculcated with an attendant distaste for dog breeders.) Blue was my girl. My one and only. We went through thick and thin (literally and figuratively) together.

Ownership of one dog didn’t stop me from looking for more, though. And getting dangerously close to adopting another a couple of times. It usually went something like this: Friend/family/coworker: “This dog needs a home, can anyone take it?” Me: “I can!” Later, to DM: “It’s cool if we get another dog, right?” DM: “Um, no.” Me: “Shit.”

Still, I could never actually pull the trigger for the 13 years we had Blue. This was mostly because she thought she was a furry human and did not enjoy the company of other canines. We were actually pretty seriously looking for another dog to adopt when Blue passed away last year. I stopped the search for a short while, but a couple of months later I was back on the hunt. DM had extracted one promise from me: This dog had to be a “real dog" (not a spastic cat-like little furball as Blue the Pomeranian had been).

Enter Feta. She is adorable. And sweet. (As long as you are one of the 4 people in our family. Otherwise she is a shifty growly thing with a special talent for scaring the bajesus out of delivery and service people.) She's our protector. She is smart and loyal. She is 100% "real dog." And maybe for this reason, she didn’t really fill the hole left by Blue. She carved out her own, new space in our family. She plays fetch and runs like the wind and hurdles ocean waves and cacti. She curls her big warm body up on our feet and follows us around thwapping us with her tail and presses her heft against us any chance she gets. But she is a big, hard ball of energy. There is no fluff there. She’s not going to cuddle on your lap or snuggle on your pillow. She can, however, give you this look and melt your heart:

Funnily enough, Colby, who had known Blue for the shortest amount of time, seemed to miss her the most when she was gone. She cried for Blue at night, and tearfully informed anyone she met "My dog got dead and went to Heavens.” I think her missing little fuzzy old Blue really stood out in contrast to Feta's hulking presence. This new dog was bigger than Colby, and frequently stepped on her and/or knocked her over with her lumbering Lenny-like love. It was so extreme that DM started campaigning for a bunny for C. I researched hutches and had a short-list of names for pairs: Paisley and Argyle, or Fern and Myrtle. But then my sister reminded me about that time in college (pre-Blue) when we bought a bunny from a pet store – gasp again – and then GASP for real because my face swelled shut and I couldn’t breathe. So, ix-nay on the unny-bay.

ANYWAY. I’ve been passively looking for Pomeranians ever since. And by “passively” I mean, searching PetFinder for pom-mixes almost daily, and actually submitting adoption applications several times. But it never worked out. UNTIL... last week, the day before we were scheduled to move to our new house. A friend of a friend had bought a Pomeranian off a sketchy breeder on Craiglist, and got it home only to realize her existing dog did NOT like Pomeranians. This friend knew I had a special place in my heart for homeless dogs in general and Pomeranians in particular. In other words, I had “sucker” written all over me. And it was black, just like Blue. I mean c'mon! I was in love. New puppy at the same time as major life upheaval? BRING IT ON. Now all I had to do was convince DM.

Strangely, DM was less than enthused with the prospect. Actually he said “There is absolutely no fucking way in hell.” I agreed that bringing the puppy home the weekend we were physically moving was not realistic, so, in my magical line of thinking, I decided that if the dog was still available a week later, that was basically a sure-fire sign that God wanted me to have it. And, apparently, He did. Who am I to argue with the will of God, people? (And yes, I am indirectly supporting skeevy Craislist puppy peddlers. So sue me, Sarah Maclachlan. At least I didn't clone it.)

I enlisted the kids’ help in my full-court puppy-press. We all spent seven days cajoling DM. At one point Jack asked who was winning the argument about the new dog. DM said, “I don’t know, who do you think?” Jack replied, “Mommy, because she uses more words and bigger words." Ha! He said "Mommy has 25 points and you only have 10.” Ladies and gentlemen, we have a WINNER. Okay, so, I didn’t so much “win” as my opponent waved the white flag in resignation, acknowledging his inevitable defeat. Details, details.

And so, without further ado, I would like to introduce you to: Nacho.

Our realtor just came over and saw this and asked, "What in the hell is that?... No. Seriously. Is it a dog or a cat?"

By the way, if you are actually, literally, losing your mind, are you aware of this fact? Just curious. I have been accused of being a nut ball many a time, but this most recent decision of mine was, apparently, the craziest one yet, if the opinion of every single person I know counts for anything ;)

PS, I came downstairs last night looking for the pup (my faithful steed Feta was already upstairs with me), and found her asleep on DM's back as he was lying on the ground working on his computer. “What?” he shrugged. “She feels… familiar. I already know this dog.”

PPS, Colby has never loved anything or anybody so much in her entire life. She is obsessed with her "Pomeration," "and that's for true." <3 And Feta is welcoming the change with a sense of love, bossiness, and reluctant acceptance befitting big sisterhood. 

Welcome to Chez Crazy, Nacho Cheese.

morbid curiosity

in case you didn't hear, we got a puppy this weekend. on October 17, actually, the 16th anniversary of my parents' death. as I texted one of my friends, "best anniversary of my dead parents EVAR!" she replied, "not a sentence I ever expected to hear. and that's part of why I love you." seriously, though. this face. the 'rents wouldn't have been able to say no, either.

so, the pup has been dubbed Feta. she is adorable. i love her. also, much like my second-born child, my second-born fur baby is WAY easier than my first-born. phew. fingers crossed she stays that way.

the kids love her too even though they're a little scared of her because she's already twice the size blue was. and they do miss their best old blue. last night jack and i had this conversation -

Jack: I love Feta. But I miss Blue.
Me: I know. Me too, buddy.
Jack: I wish I could have two dogs that aren't dead.
Me: I think one dog [that isn't dead] is enough.
Jack: Well, someday, when Feta is older, can we get another dog that isn't dead?
Me: Probably not.
Jack: Why not?
Me: Because two kids and one dog sounds like a full house to me.
Jack: Why does my cousin Finn have two dogs?
Me: I guess Aunt Chelsea and Uncle Rocko have more time and patience than I do.
Jack: Why doesn't Finn have a sister?
Me: You'll have to ask Aunt Chelsea.
Jack: So either two kids and one dog, or one kid and two dogs?
Me: Well, not necessarily, it just depends on what works for each family.
Jack: If I didn't have a sister, could I have another dog that's not dead?
Me: Proooobably not. Plus, you would be so sad if you didn't have a sister! She is going to be your best bud forever and ever.
Jack: Dat's dubious!
[At this point I am cracking up because not only has he picked up my phrasing (much to DM's chagrin), he is reenacting a conversation I had with my mom when I was his age! This kid is a riot.]
Jack: [Literally the next sentence.] Am I gonna die?
Me: Um, eventually?
Jack: I don't want to die.
Me: Well don't worry, it won't be for a very, very long time.
Jack: Like how long?
Me: Well, you never know for sure, but probably when you're like, 99, or 103.
Jack: What do you look like when you're dead?
Me: I'm not sure.
Jack: Why aren't you sure?
Me: It's not something I like to spend a lot of time thinking about.
Jack: Can you look up a picture of a dead person on your phone?
Me: Um, no.
Jack: Do you know anyone who lived to be a souzand-hundwed yeaws owd?
Me: Nope.
Jack: Well I do. He's some wandom guy. He's invisible and he lives on Jupiter except on da weekends.

Seriously. Killing me.

Also, please tell me my kid is not the only freakishly morbid little focker out there. Like, wanting to talk about death and dead people, and describing various manners of death in disturbing detail. E.g., "Cowby, you bettah sit down on yo' buns o' you wiow fawl ovah on yo' head and cwack yo' skowl open." Or, "HaHA, Daddy! I killed you dead! You have no head! And all the bwood leaked out yo' bains [veins?] all ovah da flow!" And my personal favorite, "Cowby, you can nevah evah open da door when da car is moving o' ewse you might fawl out da car and get runned ovah and flattened out like a pancake and yo bwains wiow come out yo' eyebawlz." I have NO IDEA where he gets this shit. I mean, I do tend to be a bit alarmist about safety concerns but I swear to you, I have never said anything about brain matter and orbital cavities. Nor did he pick this up from Umi Zumi or Bubble Guppies or even the Lego Movie.

Oh, and what about inventing a complete alternate reality? (See above re: Jack's acquaintance with "Wandom Souzand-Hundwed Year-Owd Martian Who Weekends on Planet Erf.") The kid makes shit up ALL the time. He can tell some whoppers! Is this normal??? I mean. He's really very sweet. And I definitely hear all sorts of second-hand tall tales from his preschool buddies. So I'm just going to pretend you have a PhD in child psychology and you say, yes, he is totally fine, and not at all a sociopath-in-training. Thanks! Good talk!

ha! pretty sure this applies for all the ages.
photo credit: DP