A friend of mine sent out a message in bottle on the ocean Facebook that her sister desperately needed a good home for her three year old Chinese crested powder puff doggie, and the missive washed up on the shore of my personal beach where it compelled me to say, “Sure, we will take the pooch.” Our oldest wee dog is getting on in years and may have Cushing’s syndrome ( which I didn’t even know dogs could get) and he has a hard time romping with our peke-mix, who misses playing with his buddy. Thus, we thought getting an already housetrained dog no bigger than the peke-mix and about the same age was a good move.
The new dog is adjusting like a champ. He is frolicking with his new fur-sibling as hoped and he is good-naturedly allowing my girls to carry him around like a cotton-haired purse. He slept with the girls last night, content to curl up between their warm little butts. (The oldest two girls co-sleep, because they are afraid of the dark if all alone. Attachment parenting advocate that I am, I think co-sleeping is good for them, especially since most of the non-western world does it that way because human’s evolved to prefer not to be isolated when they are visiting the Land of Nod.)
He seems to be happy at the Fokker Family Fortress, even though he has been forced to play with many a dog toy that clearly did not interest him all that much simply because my girls foisted it upon him. There is just one fly in the ointment of his life:
My daughters have renamed the poor little guy “Fluffy”.
His name was Jack when he came, and Jack he remains to Sweet Babou and myself, but the girls are determined to christen him Fluffy. What kills me is that Stitch, who is the official “owner” of the new pet and therefore was granted naming privileges, thinks that she has come up with something highly original. She is so proud of the name she picked out, and nothing we can do can dissuade her. Worse, the dog has already figured out that this ignoble moniker is his, and he comes to them when called. I cannot shift this name with dynamite.
But Imma call him Jack when I take him to the vet or groomers, because I have my standards.