Puppy Mugshot

When we got Louie I had this unspoken little vision of dog ownership.  A cozy, fuzzy-around-the-edges tableau of a family sitting at the table with a dog curled up on the floor at their feet. Another scene of me working at the computer with the dog--yep--curled at my feet, gazing at me adoringly when I lean down to ruffle the fur on top of his head.  Lovely fall walks around the neighborhood with the faithful pup by my side, sun filtering through the leaves.  Can't you just hear the theme music?

For some reason (I blame the dream) I decided that Thanksgiving weekend would be the perfect time to take down the gates that kept Louie permanently in the kitchen and to start letting him roam the house at will.  (Greg agreed and said "maybe it will help the kids figure out to put their stuff away or Louie might get it" with a little gleam in his eye.) But guess what? Louie is not cooperating with the dream!  It's like he has his own fond little dream of house ownership that involves free range grazing!  Like he's one step closer to world domination.

Just now I heard him run upstairs so I got up and followed him.  By the time I made it to Maddy's freshly painted, newly decorated bedroom he had pooped.  Right there.  In the corner.  Louie!!!

We're a veritable sit-com.  It would be called Louie! (italics and exclamation mark essential).

Perhaps the worst moment of the weekend was Saturday evening.  He had been lying on the floor of the family room while we all read and lounged and played.  (Ahhhh.  The dream.)  Someone said "where's Louie?" Lauren went into the front room and came back with a frightened look on her face and a piece of metallic plastic in her hand.  


"Hmmm?" (G was reading.)

"Did you leave your blackberry in the front room?"

G glanced at the piece in her hand and leapt up.  "Where is he?!!"

(This was asked not in the way of "where is that little rascal, I need to find the rest of my blackberry" but more in the manner of "if I had a gun I would use it right now" or "anyone know of a good farm in the country who could use a good furball puppy?")

Yes, Louie had chomped on his new, work-purchased fancy blackberry.
It's operable but barely.  Maybe a couple of keys don't work anymore. 
It might be that the back battery panel is too mangled to work.
Things are not looking up for that daddy-doggy relationship.  
I didn't think it was the best time to remind him about his put-your-stuff-away-or-Louie-will-get-it doctrine.  I'm perceptive like that.

In the interest of full disclosure, we did have lots of great times with him this weekend.  He loves to be where we are and plop down at our feet, watching us with devotion and (I'm interpreting here) love.  He comes right when you call him--I don't get that kind of response from anybody. He and Sam have great times playing fetch or soccer or keep away.  He's a great cuddler. His puppy ways are diminishing and he really can be trusted most of the time.  In a household of equal adult:teenage ratio (soon to be outnumbered in a few years) it's refreshing to come home to Louie's enthusiasm and pure joy at seeing me.

But having a puppy really is like having a toddler all over again.  Well, a toddler with stellar jaw strength (seriously, how did he mangle that blackberry so quickly?).  A toddler you can (thankfully) put in a crate when you need to.