The Wormlips Scrapbook

January 22–23, 2007

I love this dog. He loves me. He’s my favorite foster dog ever. I don’t want to give him back. Many people are lined up to adopt him once he recovers from his operation. However, I’m thinking about the legal advantages of possession.

January 24–26

I’m miserable. Every day I love this dog more. He loves me more than life itself. He is perfect in every way. He hasn’t even puked in the house yet. And there were just the two times in the car. He’s sweet, gentle, mellow, smart, obedient, undemanding and affectionate. He’s good with the cats. He tolerates Stella.

I observe how well he fits into our household, transparent Elizabethan collar and all.

All day long my brain goes around in circles: “Could I possibly keep another dog? Yes. No. Yes. No…”

January 27–28

No. I really can’t. Stella is enough.

I’m devastated at having to part with Birdie. I took him to Milo on Saturday so he could meet his myriad potential adopters, hugged him goodbye and ran out. I got to play with a torch and white-hot glass all day, which made me feel better, except when I was burning myself or watching my molten creations explode.

I got a call from Lynne at Milo at 6:30 that evening: “Could you possibly keep Birdie for one—”

I was on their doorstep almost before she finished her sentence.

The next day I bid Birdie farewell again, this time forever. Luckily, he was too happy visiting with the Milo people that he didn’t even look over his furry shoulder as I left.

Bookmark this post to...

December 19–23, 2006 [I think]

I had to get up in the night with three-month-old Bella, but aside from that she was thoroughly acceptable. I brought her home because all her siblings had been adopted and she was alone and mournful. She was inexcusably cute:

Bookmark this post to...

December 3–6, 2006

This dog’s given name, “Cha-Cha Charlie,” is beneath my dignity. I call him “Dog.”

Dog is what they call a “puggle.” Designer dogs — hybrids of papered breeds — are a big deal these days: cockapoos and labradoodles and shepradors, bogles and beabulls and bockers and basstons. I’m not kidding.

Dog, as you might imagine, is half pug, half beagle.

At three-and-a-half-months old, Dog is small enough that his head can fit into Stella’s mouth. I know this for a fact.

Out in the open yard, Stella definitely had the upper “hand,” but in smaller enclosures it’s Dog who seizes control by humping Stella. It’s not very effective, though, due to the discrepancy in their relative elevations.

M was unusually fond of this dog until he peed on her bed.

Bookmark this post to...