The truth is, since getting Nigel, my now three month-old Doxador puppy, I haven't done much apart from dog things... cleaning up accidents, taking him out to "whizpoo" as we call it, saying NO! a lot, rescuing the cat, and cleaning up toys. Oh, and napping when I get the rare chance.
It's been a hard month. I've gotten absolutely no writing done; these things don't happen just because a puppy finally decides to sleep.
But things are getting better, regardless of how it sounds. Soon, I won't be writing about Nigel so much, because, soon, he will be a dog, not a set of razor teeth and a butt on four legs. I really don't know what I was thinking when I agreed to take him (and no, I'd never get rid of him, much to the cat's dismay). I've raised puppies before, but for the life of me, I can't remember it being like this. I don't remember losing sleep or doing middle-of-the-night walkies. All I can think is that, back then, I was in my twenties, which I
So onward. Let the magic begin.