At too-early o’clock this morning, my husband and I were sitting out on the porch, waking up. (We don’t smoke in the house, even in February when it’s ohmigod a wee bit chilly.) We were talking about the new puppy and how the poor thing hopefully won’t understand English pronouns because every pet I’ve ever had has been female. Animals are “she” and “her”. Which led to…
(Oh wait. Infodump! My husband fell in love with the Bolo-Noodle breed after doing a job for a couple who have one. He even brought home pictures on his cellphone. Then he went back to do another job for them and was still so in love he threatened to dognap the puppy. J—, the owner, told my husband he’d shoot him in the face and to go buy his own Bolo-Noodle. So…here we are.) (Bolo-Noodle is Bolognese and Toy Poodle, btw.)
Mr S: Another thing about males. Even if they’re fixed, they’re boys. They like a little friction now and then. J— says his little guy is always humping their big German shepherd’s leg.
Me: Really? Ew. Maybe we can get it a special doll or something. Not a blow-up doggy doll because it might pop. Maybe a stuffed German shepherd?
Mr S: Then it’ll start humping all of SK’s stuffed animals.
Me: Or his plush Smurfette! SK would be screaming and I’d be yelling to leave the puppy alone because I have to get a picture of the puppy banging Smurfette for my blog. And then SK would want to know what he’s doing.
Mr S: Making Smurfadoodles, son.
At which point SK opened the front door to ask what we were laughing so loudly about. Us: “Nothing.”
The future Smurfadoodle daddy at 2.5 weeks old: