To all of you folks out there who think my mother deserves grandchildren, you’re in for a treat!
Our family has a new addition!
This is Churchill. He’s a Basset Hound, and he is pretty crazy adorable, if I do say so myself. My dad’s been begging for a dog for about 3 years now, and my mom finally caved! We stopped off by the side of the road by a “puppies for sale” sign a few weeks ago. It was more of a whim; giving Dad his puppy fix before gently saying, “No, we can’t take him home,” and leaving. Except Mom and I fell in love. (With the dog… not each other.) Dad really wanted to take home the female, but we just kind of looked at him like, “Are you crazy? Just look at this little guy!”
So far, Churchill is a good pup. He’s much mellower than past dogs we’ve had (most of whom were the most spastic of Labradors ever created.) He is adorable. And he is now sleeping through the night, which is a very good thing. He has not yet learned to howl, for which we are grateful. (It’s hilarious to listen to him try, though.) And he has an endearing habit of trying to eat your pants while you’re wearing them.
He does, however, have a troubled life. The poor dog may never know what his real name is. I named him Churchill, and occasionally call him Hilly or Hilly-O. My mother calls him Winny (short for Winston,) which has all the neighborhood kids convinced that he’s a girl. My father insists on calling him Waldorf, for reasons nobody may ever know, and insists that his full legal name is Winston Waldorf Churchill – which it simply never has been, nor ever will be. Zac (one of the neighborhood kids) has decided that his name is Rock Star, and frequently refers to him as Star. And, of course, he is frequently called Puppy, Pup, Puppy Dog, Dawg, and various other derivatives of a canine nature. In time, he may become convinced that his name is the sound of a whistle, because that’s the only consistent thing he hears.
Possibly in an act of bitter vengeance for his confusion, he has decided that the most perfect time to pee is right after he comes into the house. I feel bad for him. He pees on the kitchen floor. We put him out, clean the floor, and leave him for a while, so he won’t get any positive reinforcement (and so he can empty his bladder.) We feel sorry for him. We let him in to play. He comes romping inside, very excited, and pees on the floor. So we put him out again. He seems especially fond of the kitchen floor and my brother’s carpet, which is exactly why I am not allowing him in my room under any circumstances.
Fortunately, he’s cute. So I think we’ll keep him. The potty-training continues, but aside from that, he’s a very good dog. If you want your toes pounced on, please drop on by! ♥