five pounds of rambunctious

Life as we knew it came to a screeching halt six weeks ago. My husband bemoaned him being a puppy, “The animal shelter is full of adult dogs – why did we need a baby?!” Toys are in every room. I step on them in the middle of the night – they go squeak, of course. Potty training is the thought of the day – every day.

I was sure we had added to our family too soon after losing one from our family, and I tried not to fall so hard for him. It didn’t work. Within the first few weeks I realized he would never replace Dakota, and I wouldn’t want him to. He was Bentley, and I already loved him for who he was.

He barks wildly, commands the room at all times, and we’ve barely had one good day of work, or one good night’s sleep since he moved in.

He sits in my lap during coffee, chews my fingers when I type, and growls when we kiss the top of his head. I decided early on he would either get used to my kisses on the top of his head, or he would bite my nose. . . make-up does not cover a bitten nose by the way.

He moves at lightning speed, which took his little catch-me-if-you-can game to a whole new level when he learned to climb the stairs. Getting dressed requires an inordinate amount of focus, and I will admit to having put my running tights on backwards just this week. The first time my husband locked him in the bathroom while he showered, he rolled himself up in the toilet tissue. I babysit while my husband cooks, he babysits while I play the piano. Mr. Boggs babysits when we’ve all lost our minds.

When I realized he was getting too cold in the middle of the night, I put him in bed with me. He climbs on top of my pillow and sleeps on my head, or across my throat. Sometimes in the middle of the night he presses his face to mine, cheek to cheek, as if to say I love you.

Maybe life has not come to a screeching halt at all. . .