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Now with more dog.
2006-03-06, 11:45 a.m.

Laura Flea! Now with more dog.


There is no sweeter baby than this one.

I broke down. I did it. I got one of Snatchy’s puppies. I’ll wax all dog-mushy on you for a second, and then I’ll tell you the longer story behind it.

Piper’s full name is Rowdy Rottie Piper, named for the professional wrestler of the almost-same name. This is because she looks to have quite a bit of Rottie fence-jumper in her, and she’s very vocal, aka piping up quite a bit. And she’s a bagpipe-playing, kilt-wearing professional wrestler, also, coincidentally.

She’s very sweet, very affectionate, very soft and furry, super smart (NO accidents in the house since we got her Saturday evening), and has a very funny little personality. Bossy. Mischievous.

She’s also full of fleas and worms, and LG and I are taking her to the vet this afternoon to start the magical journey of expelling all of her pesky little parasites.

And just to compare my children and rank them in order of my favorites:

1. Lil Guy
2. Piper
3. Mrs. Beans

Why is Mrs. Beans at the bottom of my list? Because after having Piper for two days, at 10 weeks old, she’s already smarter and better house-trained and crate-trained than Old Beans. Beans is a nervous wreck, by the way, and possesses not one SHRED of maternal instinct. Beans is your old maiden aunt that wears menswear, and gives you sharp disapproving looks when you make too much noise. So Beans, status around here is a fragile thing, and you’re going to need to step up a bit to get back at least tied to second place.

So anyway, Piper is 10 weeks old, she’s 17 pounds, she had never been indoors until I brought her home Saturday, and although I’m sure she misses her mother and siblings, I’m her new mother, and Beans and LG are new siblings. She’s adjusting beautifully, and let me reiterate: NO ACCIDENTS IN THE HOUSE.

I take this as an indicator of exceptional intelligence; not that I am averse to cleaning up other creatures’ bodily expulsions. This will be my talent if I’m ever in a beauty pageant.

You might ask, “Laura, how did you get roped into taking a puppy? The last we talked, you were anti-puppy. Hell, you weren’t even sure if they were really 100% dogs.”

The answer is simple, my friends. Alcohol. I blame it on the alcohol.

To be a little more forthcoming with the explanation, there was some going-out Friday night. First, to the Senior Citizens Center (who know how to PARTY, and they’ll feed you while they’re at it), and then to the local sports bar, where our friend’s band was playing.

Turns out Snatchy was there, and while the friends we were with have all decided that they cannot risk their reputations and social and professional standings in town being seen with her in public except at chance bar encounters, they did insist that it was time to let bygones be bygones, and since Snatchy was already there, that I needed to make the first move, make up with her, and just let it all go.

Why did I need to make the first move? Because I intimidate the hell out of Snatchy, that’s why. Ha. She intimidates easily, but whatever. This is the woman who carries a tire shank around with her just to teach her enemies a lesson or two, and for the first week after Don called off the relationship, he carried a can of flat fixer and our portable air compressor, just in case she shanked him. And I intimidate her.

But anyway, she was in another part of the bar from me, and our whole group had migrated up there while I was still hiding out in the back, having glommed onto a group of people who may not have even wanted me to sit with them just to avoid Snatchy at the front of the bar, so I had ball up my courage and go up to her general area and talk to some folks.

I got a hug from my attorney Killer, who had something big and hard in his pants pocket: his phone.

I exclaimed “Whoo! Killer! What is that in your pocket? This is like high school, hugging a guy with a big hard object in his pocket pressed up against my leg!” Yeah, you might be risking your social and professional reputation in town if you’re seen with me, mightn’t you? He LOVED it.

So there was Snatchy, and I turned to her, and she said “Laura Flea, it’s good to see you”, and I said likewise, and we started talking puppies, and I wasn’t even drunk, but I had just enough of a little buzz to agree that I should definitely at least come out and see them Saturday morning, and the end of that story is that I have a new wormy, flea-ridden baby hanging out on my screened-in porch today, with a vet appointment at 4:30.

And she’s very sweet and lovable, and even though I don’t call her George, I still love her and feed her and pet her, and basically, I’m at her beck and call. That’s getting off to a good start, innit?

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