Archive: July 2007

Growing up, I was repeatedly told that all of my actions have consequences. During the majority of the occasions when I heard this truism, I was receiving unpleasant “consequences” for what were decreed to be poor decisions: turning cartwheels down the aisle at church, swiping cookies before dinner, or reading under the covers.

I never did outgrow that last indescretion. It is very rare that I would go to sleep without reading something; usually, my fatigue dictates how long I’m able to prop up the book in my lap. Generally, I can last about twenty minutes, depending on the day of the week, but even that short period of time helps my body relax into sleep. Even in the summertime, I snuggle under the covers and lean up against my husband pillow (not JG, one of those pillows with arms) for the nightly ritual. I don’t need to stop myself at a chapter break because my mind conveniently picks up where it left off, even mid-paragraph. As soon as I feel my eyelids droop and my fingers lose their grip, I drop in my index-card bookmark — you know, for jotting down words I want to look up later — slide the book onto my nightstand, reach up to turn off the light, and settle in for the night. On the rare night when I outlast my twenty minutes, I have the pleasure of using my fancy LED reading light. Its moonbeam-y glow brings me back to those illicit hours when I lay huddled under my covers, keeping half an ear open for my parents’ footfalls in the hallway.

Last night, I stayed up way past my bedtime in a mad dash to finish the last chronicle in the Harry Potter series. I started the book in the afternoon on Saturday and read steadily until I finished it at almost 1am this morning. At first, I was simply wide awake. Reading is the best way for me to tell my body to go to sleep, so I pressed on, not realizing that I was entering the thick of the action. When I reached the point of no return, I looked grimly at the clock, took a deep breath, and muttered to myself, “Okay, we’re powering through.”

I am still breathing deeply and muttering this morning. Pressing on to finish the book was clearly a bad decision and I am suffering the consequences, as evidenced by the grogginess, yawning, dark circles under my eyes, and overall delayed reaction time. It’s my own fault. I’ll manage.

Even in my hazy state, I know with full certainty that I’ll make this bad decision again. It’s just a matter of time.

#24

Oh, you people. With the peer pressure. When someone suggests that my very own little scrappy puppy should get a weekly tribute, what am I supposed to do? When another dog owner points out that I could complete a trifecta of doggie cuteness, how can I refuse? When yet another voice decrees that, indeed, “the people” are in agreement, I am powerless to resist. Despite my reticence to post actual pictures on this here site, the pull toward Thursday-Tedsday was too strong for me, a mere tiny Asian girl who gets her lanky husband to lift things for her.

Still, I couldn’t fully buy into it. Thursday-Tedsday doesn’t rhyme nearly as nicely as Roosday-Tuesday or Wednesday-Bensday; I feel inferior. Besides, what does it say about me if I simply collapse under the weight of several, virtual nudges? Was all that D.A.R.E. role-playing for naught? What about my principles? That I have this site to write. That I don’t need a weekly feature to fill the space. Right?

On the other hand — cute puppy! It’s for the greater good!

With my internal conflict actualized, I present my version of what we will know informally as Thursday-Tedsday, but will be publicly known as Dogarazzi, mostly because that’s how I felt as I snapped picture after picture. But also because, um, I like to use puns whenever possible. Heh.

Without further ado (e.g. hemming and hawing about whether I’m a sell-out), I present: Dogarazzi: Chew Toy Edition!

What do you know – I get a dog and, despite my raging incompetence, I become a beaming, braggy owner in less than 48 hours. I’m like one of those parents who will whip out a clear plastic, wallet-sized photo holder to unfortunate passersby:

“Did you hear that we got a dog? You didn’t? Let me show you! This is Ted on the grass…and this is Ted on the deck…”

But seriously, he is too cute! How could I resist that face?

Lucky for me, I am not the only one of this persuasion. In addition to comments with a serious case of capital-letters-itis, a spate of picture e-mailing and internet musings has produced a bevy of ringing endorsements for our little adoptee:

“Aww he’s GREAT!!! I find it HILARIOUS that he’s smaller than JG’s head! Umm, saying nothing about the size of JG’s head of course…only the size of the dog…err, yes… And I agree that he is VERY endearing. He’ll probably try to use that to his advantage, so be vigilant. :o) ”
— Best friend, recipient of the panicked, pre-puppy voicemail

“Oh my goodness gracious!!! He is so ADORABLE!!!! If you ever need someone to watch him, I’d be more than happy to drive the 2 hours! I love him already!!!”
— One of my bridesmaids

“OMG he is sooooo adorable!!! So you got a puppy?!?!?! How is he?!?! Ahhh I wish I was there to see him, but I will just have to make a trip over Christmas!”
— JG’s sister, who just arrived in Australia to study abroad for the semester

“I LOVE YOUR DOG! I think he and Sam could be great friends! You must bring him along when you come to visit! Can’t wait to see that dog in person!”
— Mimi, who has a Lhasa Apso named Samantha

“He is, obviously, legen…wait for it…dary!”
— JG’s mom, in an impressive show of HIMYM inside jokery

“People, I warn you, unless you are stronger-willed and less susceptible to whimpering out loud whilst at work at the cuteness of a puppy, be careful before clicking over to RA’s Flickr stream. Because, ack, that baby Westie makes Alex and my leash hand’s ache with emptiness and now we HAVE to go to the puppy store on the way home OR ELSE.”
— Deb, in response to my lure of vicarious puppy photos

The masses have spoken and apparently, Ted is The Cutest Dog Ever. Sorry, other dogs. I shrug and look sheepish because, alas, there is nothing I can do about it.

A voicemail to my best friend on my way home from work:

“It’s RA and it’s almost 6 on Monday. I just wanted to talk quickly because I’m having a tiny freak out. Because tonight, JG and I are going to get a puppy. A puppy! With a propensity to chew things! Like couches! Agh! Fine, so you’re not there. I’ll take pictures and send them to you. I’m sure you’ll get a laugh out of this tonight.”

- - -

We turned onto a road just wide enough for one car. The crate rattled in the back seat as we crawled by and craned our necks, looking for #151. Along the left side of the road, there were several older houses with various children’s toys out front. To the right, horses poked their heads out of square windows in the walls of a large, white clapboard barn. A shiny silo rose up ahead.

A woman at one of the houses waved at us and JG parked the car by a small garage. She led us out back to a small, fenced-in pen where five Westie puppies nipped at each other and fought for room at the water bowl. As I watched, sometimes through my camera, JG played with the three males and lifted them up for me to see them. I hated to admit it to the woman, but I couldn’t really tell the difference. They were all friendly, resilient, and patient with the half-dozen children grabbing at them, but I had no basis for eliminating one or another.

“What do you think?” JG asked.

“They’re all pretty friendly, I think. It’s up to you.”

“Are you sure?”

I suspected, from his optimistic tone, that JG had his eye on one puppy in particular. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “Pick which one you want.”

- - -

On the way home, my cell phone rang. It was the recipient of my crazed voicemail.

“Hi, RA! I just got your message. Is this a good time?”

“Uh. Um.”

“If not, I can call you back later.”

“It’s just that…I’m driving home. And JG is in the passenger seat. With the dog.”

[Giant peals of laughter]

- - -

That’s how Ted joined our little clan last night.

When we got home, JG brought Ted out to the yard right away to play, which really ended up being more like getting his bearings in our lawn and deck. He kept looking around, slightly confused, but certainly intrigued by the whole set-up. JG mentioned that we needed some newspaper to line Ted’s “puppy room” (also known as our laundry room), so I made a quick trip for provisions. I wanted to stock up on Frebreze and lint rollers, anyway.

While I was comparing puppy chow prices, one of my girlfriends called. “I’m in the supermarket,” I told her. “Guess which aisle!”

“Oh my gosh, you’re not pregnant, are you?!”

“Good lord, no, I’m buying dog food!”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

Seriously.

- - -

After the first 12 hours, it’s clear that JG is in love with Ted. It’s strange for me to watch him go through this transformation that enables him to cradle this puppy in his arms for a 40-minute drive, even after it has thrown up on him. I knew that he would be happy about getting a dog, but the reality of it is something else entirely.

As for me, well, I’m managing. I’m rather awkward at holding Ted and his expression when I try to do so is along the lines of “Why are you letting this crazy person manhandle me?” Hence, there are no public pictures of me with the puppy yet. In spite of my ineptitude, I kind of like the little guy. He is very endearing and he already knows that JG and I are the ones who will take care of him, although it’s a little heavier on the JG side than mine for now. I’m excited that Ted will be an ever-willing subject for pictures; I swear that he even turned around and posed when he saw my camera.

As much as I love Walter as a dog name, I decided to pay tribute to our favorite sit-com, How I Met Your Mother. When the main character, Ted, goes out with his friend, Barney (played by Doogie Houser!), Barney always leaves Ted hanging next to an amazing-looking girl after delivering a pick-up line that JG and I now need to say as much as possible:

“Haaaaaaaaaave you met Ted?”

Well, I think it’s funny.