Wake up. Friday morning. D-Day…or, P-Day to be exact. For today, we purchase our puppy. Put up a valiant fight, but finally succumbed to the fact that if Little Human and The Machine want a puppy, we are getting a puppy. Researched numerous dog breeds. Have always been a large dog breed guy…Labs, German Shepherds, Malamutes, etc. Decide on a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel instead. Good disposition with kids, sad eyes but cute, not too big hopefully equals not too big of poos. Convinced our brand new house is soon to be a urine/feces puppy mess.
Have the usual work at home day. Enjoying the quiet of the house, perhaps for the last time. Wondering how I am going to interview candidates with a pooch running around. I will figure it out. Leading the recruiting function with a large television group in the media industry is definitely interesting…never a dull moment.
Do new puppy gear needs search online. Make list. Drive to PetSmart. Get cart. Look at the vast array of puppy merchandise beckoning me in. So. Many. Choices. Decide to get help. Find a PetSmart employee. Explain to her the gravity of the situation. In less than four hours, I will have an animal in my house I am not yet prepared for. PetSmart employee laughs. PetSmart employee promises to hook me up. PetSmart employee explains every detail of every purchase at great length. My brain is now as full as my cart. Did not really need to know every ingredient in puppy food, but okay. PetSmart employee is very thorough. Check out. Perky PetSmart cashier asks “getting a new dog?” in a voice about eight-octaves above a cartoon character’s voice. Voices in my head quickly take over. Sometimes I listen. Sometimes I immediately blurt out what the voices tell me to. Realize Perky PetSmart cashier is just being nice, but still. Look Perky PetSmart cashier dead in the eyes and tell her “no, I am trying a new parenting technique for my four-year old daughter…do you think this cage is big enough?” Perky PetSmart cashier nervously laughs, looks away from eye contact, and scans my items more quickly. Success. Must make puppy collar name engraving thing. We have not officially decided on a name yet. Text The Machine while standing in front of engraving machine. Three to four names fly between us. Typing and erasing on engraving machine while we text. Carlton Luke Tyler it is.
Drive seventy-five miles to pick-up puppy. Park in driveway. Wonder what I am about to walk into. Knock. Lady in ridiculously low-cut shirt with rather large…ummm…yeah…answers door. Look around. Consider immediately saying “nice puppies!”…but refrain. Because Nice Puppies lady is only holding one puppy, mine. Nice Puppies lady plops my puppy in my lap. Nice Puppies lady goes into a thirty-minute dissertation on puppy care, AKC registration, vet care, etc. etc. I smile and nod and try to maintain appropriate eye contact. Super nice lady, but good God. Pay for puppy. Fairly certain I could have put a nice down payment on a new Jeep Wrangler for what this puppy cost. Or new puppies for The Machine. Puppy and puppy survival kit in hand, walk out door. Nice Puppies lady waves goodbye and bids me good luck. Picture Nice Puppies lady jumping up and down the moment door clicks closed in celebration. Get in car. Brought puppy hauling box crate thing. Look at Carlton’s face. These eyes…geesh. Cannot put puppy in box. Puppy goes on lap. Drive seventy-five miles home with Carlton in lap. Wonder which bodily fluid Carlton is going to bless the Lexus and my lap with first. Go puppy bodily fluid free during trip home.
Arrive home. Choreograph surprising Little Human with new puppy with The Machine. Little Human is upstairs. Put Carlton in small puppy carrying crate box thing next to Christmas tree. Still trying to figure out how to pull off Santa bringing this thing two-weeks early. Call for Little Human. Have video going. Little Human bounces downstairs. Tell Little Human Santa brought her an early present. Little Human walks over to Christmas tree, sees the puppy, and immediately screams and cries she does not want a puppy. Little Human sprints upstairs. Look at Carlton. Carlton looks at me. Sad eyes look ever more sad. Look at The Machine. We laugh. And, I got this on video. Awesome. Call Little Human back downstairs. Little Human on stairs throwing semi-four-year-old-fit. Little Human cautiously takes a step or two downstairs, peers over railing, and checks out Carlton again. Two-minutes later, they are best buds. Success.
Take Carlton for first liver-intolerant neighborhood walk. Of course, immediately see three neighbors. One neighbor laughs and says “nice dog, Paris.” Nice. Dallas and Fireball drive by and ask me to immediately relinquish my man card. It is as if nobody has seen a 6’4 dude walking a fu-fu King Charles Cavalier Spaniel puppy before. This is supposed to be the part where I write about Carlton crying all night, poo’ing and pee’ing everywhere, and basically chewing the entire house. Funny thing happened though, this dog rocks. Put puppy in crate for the night. No crying. Played with toys. Slept. Woke up next morning, took Carlton for walk. Carlton places bodily fluids outside the house. Get back inside, Carlton runs back into crate, plays with toys, and watches cartoons with Little Human. No barking, perfectly behaved. Fairly certain Carlton is lulling me into a false security for his puppy onslaught this weekend. We shall see.
More to come…