The latest addition to the family. And I'm so goddammed tired

Our credibility was on the line. Both of the kids were beginning to wonder if we were full of baloney.  We are, but kids aren't supposed to suspect it until they hit their teens.

For months, we have been talking about getting a dog for the family, and they've been patient enough. Until a few weeks ago.

On our way to her swimming lesson, as Natalie stepped out of the minivan, she spied a man across the street walking a beagle. Her eyes narrowed.

"You keep telling me you're going to get me a dog," she said. Then she stared straight at me. "And you're going to get me one."

So voila, we got Pippa, a nine week old Jack Russell puppy, which is sort of like the triple shot espresso of the dog world. If crack cocaine had four legs, this would be it.

The man we bought it from wasn't much comfort. "They're great rat dogs," he said. "The force is strong with them. No more mice for miles, I can promise you that."

"We have a hamster," I said.

He nodded. "Not for long," he said. "Not for long."

That should  have been the warning bell that made me walk away from the deal. But, amidst a flurry of different rescue puppies running around, barking and nipping and pooping and chewing, this little sausage with legs casually walks over to Nat, climbs on to her lap, and falls asleep.

Check and mate.

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