That Whole ASS-U-ME Thing

For those of you who don’t follow me on Facebook, we had a dog saga this week. This is Jack.   My husband and I got Jack in 2002 after searching for months for the perfect puppy.  We were on a wait list and went out to College Station where he was born when he was one week old and picked him out of a litter of 8.  When I walked into the room where he was being kept, he was the smallest puppy in the litter and while all eight puppies surrounded me with tails wagging, Jack was the one who managed to hoist himself up onto my lap and lick my face.  We paid our deposit and went home for the very difficult seven-week wait for him to be old enough to wean. I was like a nesting pregnant woman.  I painted (yes, painted) a sign with his name on it to put above his custom-organic dog bed (yes, I was that person) and bought him engraved dog tags and cute collars.  And on the day he came home, I slept on the laundry room floor next to him because I didn’t want to leave him alone. Jack was my first baby. I brought him into my classroom while I taught, I took him on long runs on the weekends and let him snuggle with baby dolls to prep him for when I brought my own baby home.  I cried–literally sobbed– as I held my newborn son Joey up to him and let him sniff him for the first time.  Pregnancy hormones, yes, but also I felt...
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