Proof that I've lost my mind.

I've been thinking about this for a while. I'd muttered it out loud a time or two, but then I held Holly's puppy just before Thanksgiving of last year and a switch flipped in my brain. It's my decisive switch and when it flips - watch out. Decision has no off position.

I held that puppy and I said to myself - "Yep, I'm getting a dog."

Then I spent several months trying to talk myself out of it - mostly because I don't really like dogs. I've had some bad dog experiences, so I'm quite scared of them. I like cleanliness and have always thought of dogs and scruffy and smelly. Mostly because I needed one more living thing in the house like I needed a hole in the head.

But I couldn't be dissuaded. So in an attempt to get around my own rational thought, I started saying out loud "I'm getting a dog." Then I started saying it out loud to the children. And once you say something to children it takes an act of Congress to get out of it.

"When??" they would ask, "when are we getting a dog."

"When we get home from vacation."

When our wheels touched down in Salt Lake City after a magical 7 days at the beach Brynn leaned over to me and said "Are we picking up our dog on the way home?"

I forget that children are quite literal.

So I had to get myself in gear. We got back into the swing of daily life, got the kids finished up with school and then on a Monday afternoon I called the breeder.

She had a Morkie liter days away from being ready to go home. She sent me this picture:

I agreed to meet the lady in Twin Falls, ID the following day at 5 PM.

I went to the store and bought a few supplies. The next day Mom and I drove to ID and I bought the dog. It sounds like an impulse buy, I know, but I'd flipped the switch in November.

And she was perfect - sweet and adorable. And she didn't make a noise the entire ride home. Not a peep. And then I started to get worried. I mean really? Not a sound. She just stared at me like I was an alien.

I got home late, set the kennel on the kitchen floor and opened the door. A few mins later a tiny ball of fur poked her head out and carefully started exploring the kitchen. "That's the smallest dog I've even seen," was all Chad could say.

And still not a noise. Not a happy bounce. Not frolic or a romp. Nothing. And then I got really nervous. I was pretty sure I'd purchased an autistic dog. This dog is going to need occupational therapy, I thought to myself.

She got up three times the first night. Well, actually, correction - I set my alarm and got her up three times the first night. She didn't make a peep any of those times. (Two nights of that and I wisely decided that if she wanted to sleep through the night, who am I to argue, so I stopped waking her up.)

She cautiously hung out under the table the first morning - no noise, no playing. And to calm my troubled heart Chad took her outside and started playing with her. Next thing you know there was some careful frolicking going on. 

"See?" he said, handing me the now quiet ball of fluff. "She'll get there."

She's now been home 6 weeks. She's a never ending bundle of energy. She runs, she romps, she nibbles toes. She yips and yaps and growls "ferociously' when she wants to play. She LOVES Chad. We spend hours in the yard trying to get her to go to the bathroom. She's so tiny she can hide anywhere, so we keep her basically confined to the kitchen.

She sleeps from exactly 11 PM to 640 AM, every day. 640 is a horrific hour, but it is better than 440, so I'll take it.

Any concerns I had about her are gone - she's exuberant and very puppy like. She's plenty playful, plenty vocal. Just like Brynn - she was quiet for a long time, but once she was ready there's no containing that personality. Basically Josie is the canine version of Brynn.

I absolutely love taking care of her. I had no idea how much I would love it. I think I really needed something and I'm as surprised as anyone that that something turned out to be a dog.

Apparently, I really needed that hole in the head.