They Call it Puppy Loooooooove

For most of my life, my official position on dogs has been "get that evil hell hound away from me." Recent events have both confirmed and amended this position. Now it goes something like, "get that evil hell hound away from me, unless it is a puppy, in which case I'll be needing some cuddles with that fluffy wad of adorable joy." Or to shorten it some, Dogs - no, Baby dogs - heck yes!

First the terror. So Eli and I went to visit his cousin, Maynor, who is house-sitting for a German couple for a month. Apparently oblivious to the cliche, this couple also owns a German Shepherd, or as I like to call it, a tooth-filled killing machine. This murderbeast is roughly my height when it stands on its back legs and I know this because it also really likes to jump up on people, me in particular. And even though everyone assured me that it's just incorrigible and full of lovable fun, I am 100% sure that one of these times it jumps up on me, it is going to rip out my throat.

No, really, who wouldn't love that face?

Eli and Maynor thought it was hilarious while I fluttered around making eeping noises of pure terror. Let me tell you fellas, the appropriate response in this situation is not laughter; the appropriate response is shooting the dog in the face.*

*Here, you may think the word "appropriate" is open for some debate. You are wrong.

However, my experience with the canine species does not end there. My sister-in-law and her husband's dog, Cinnamon, got rather friendly with the neighbor's dog and presented the family with five puppies so cute they'll melt your face off like you were a Nazi and they were the Ark of the Covenant (although picture something more adorable and way less gross. Also you needn't be a mass murdering f{art} head to appreciate the cuteness).

Ahem, where was I? Oh yeah. I fell instantly in love with the little grey one. Technically speaking, she belongs to Jonothan's brother, Jimmy, but I was sorely tempted to scoop up the puppy, stow her away in my backpack and take her home and love her forever. Perhaps you are asking yourself, if I don't like dogs, why would I want a puppy. Well, I am pretty sure that when you raise a dog from fluff, it knows and loves you and is considerably less likely to kill you and feast on your corpse.

Oh yeah, this would totally fit in my backpack.

I might have actually kidnapped the puppy too, except Eli won't let me have a dog. He had some rather strong objections to anyone pooping on the floor of our house and didn't believe me when I explained that dogs can be house-broken. Actually, when I explained about this, he looked at me like I'd just told him that dogs can be trained to grow a third eye and lay eggs like chickens. And while he's wrong about the house-training thing, he's not wrong that we really have neither the space nor the time here in Nicaragua to have a pet. Sad.

What does all this mean? Basically, it means I owe my sister an apology for totally stealing her life. I swear I didn't do it on purpose, but think about it - I married a handsome guy I met at church, I'm a full-time housewife, in a year or so we'll start having a bucketload of kiddos, and I am strangely open to having a dog. And while Pam did not, I guess, get the memo that we were switching lives and completely abscond with mine, she did end up with the high-paying job and a cool car. So, Pampams, I am awfully sorry about the thievery, if you want your life back, please help yourself to this giant pile of filthy laundry that needs to be hand-washed.