Welcome back, folks.
I had a fantastic break, and I hope you did too.
Instead of the usual school’s back in session blah blah, I’m going to tell y’all about your Cuffist’s new life as a parent.
Potter, my new pup, is a pure-bred North American black dog.
(His mama was a lab-beagle mix and his daddy was a Rolling Stone.)
His hobbies include sleeping, snacking, sleeping, walking, sleeping, pooping on white carpet, sleeping, pooping on white carpet and sleeping.
We like to call him “Pothead” because he’s kind of like that stoned guy who’s always passed out on the couch at parties.
He also enjoys an occasional tussle with his feline brothers, Bailey and Simon, or his chubby childhood friend, Milton Moby.
Potter’s a lanky pup. He’s probably twice as long as he is tall and he’s slim.
As a FGFL (Fat Girl For Life), his slender figure scares me a bit, and his food choice scares me more.
His favorite foods are cat poop, cat food, unrecognizable gutter trash, aluminum cans, cat poop, cat food, shoes, cat poop and Milton Moby’s food.
His own food — the nutritious, vet-recommended brand — can’t hold a candle to a good piece of rotting something found behind the dumpster.
Much of my life now consists of doing puppy things — feeding, playing fetch, picking up poop, taking walks, napping with the pup, working on the sit command, more poop, more food, more poop, more walking, etc.
My new favorite phrase is, “GOOD BOY, POTTER! POO-POO OUTSIDE! YOU ARE SUCH A GOOD BOY!”
Who would’ve thought a formerly sane person could be this proud of a turd?
I’ve had to stop myself from praising my friends when I hear the toilet flush.
I also spend a lot of time saying “NO!”
That was much harder to learn than poop pride.
I never understood what my parents meant with that whole “This hurts me more than it hurts you” thing, but I do now.
After a harsh “NO!” the sad eyes look up, the head goes down, the tail stops wagging, the pathetic pup shuffles near and the sad eyes are back.
In his three-and-a-half month lifespan, he’s already surpassed my mom on guilt-trip ability.
Potter’s really smart, too.
Sometimes while he’s lying around, he suddenly picks up his head, perks up his ears and gives this inquisitive and authoritative look — like he’s done a few quick calculations and is absolutely positive Einstein’s theory of relativity is just a smidge off.
I think he dreams of logarithms, and his paws twitch when he almost has the answer.
He likes to watch financial news when he has to stay home alone, and I’m thinking of turning my portfolio over to him as soon as I get one.
Maybe I’ll wait until he stops pooping inside, though.