I know, I know. This was not supposed to happen. A mere two posts ago I was talking about how we “aren’t puppy people.” It surprised us, too: this wasn’t what we had planned for our weekend. We’d been talking to a rescue organization, but the dog they offered us was more a hospice case than a pet. I know there are people who can do that, but I just don’t think that’s where we are right now. The more we talked about it, the more we began thinking about talking to breeders about older, “pet quality” dogs. I thought we should consider a male in order to avoid some of the problems that can come with having two grown female dogs in a home— and to open up our options. Sam had been so against the idea, because dog penis freaked him out.
A note, before we go any further: this is all going somewhere relatively wholesome, I swear.
Another note, just to play it safe: if you found my website by googling “dog penis,” I’m very sorry but this probably isn’t what you’re looking for.
So. Where were we? Dog penis. Right. Sam was squicked out by the idea of dog penis, but he’d always had bigger dogs. I couldn’t help but think that possibly it was an issue of scale, and suggested we look at some pug- mix puppies over the weekend to see how he felt. More accurately, we went to look at their penises and see if it freaked him out.
Obviously, he got over it.
So this is Hugo, our tiny little pug- something mix puppy. He’s about 4 pounds of roly- poly sweetness who sounds like a squeak toy when he yawns and reduces my crew to a mess
of babbling jelly every time he enters the room. He's a lot calmer than I expected, although I haven’t done the puppy thing in a long time. He spends most of his time sleeping, though, so it could still turn out to be all trickery yet.