Fletch

Whoa. There is a dog asleep on my lap.

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Not just any dog.  MY dog.

He looks gigantic in this picture, but he is sooooo little.  He collapsed in a heap as soon as he came home and met the neighbors.  He loves the neighbors.  He tried a nap in his crate first.  He was unsatisfied with that, and turned over his water bowl onto his new blankie to escape.  It worked.  And now he is asleep on me, which is a win-win.

I know nothing about owning a dog.  My family, in fact, had two dogs, both of them after I left for college.  I enjoyed the dogs, but was not responsible for the dogs.  This is a whole other ball game.  I should be freaked out.  Unbelievably, I am not.  I will dither about what I want for weeks, months, years and then when I am good and ready, I will orchestrate a plan in a matter of minutes.   It was 24 hours from finding him at a shelter down east, to having him asleep on my lap.

Fletch would appreciate any advice you have to offer.  He’s eleven weeks old, nine pounds, and it seems he is mostly if not entirely lab. The floppy ears slay me.  Don’t get me started on the belly, or the fact that the whole back half of him wags, and not just his tail.  We have a lot of things to figure out, but he seems to be settling in nicely.  I’m prepared for things to get dramatic this evening when we attempt bedtime.  I’m prepared for a few rough nights and a complete schedule change while we get to know each other.  Mostly, though, I’m just glad to have him on my lap.

He’s just woken up and is attempting to type.  This could get interesting.  I’ll keep you posted.

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