memory cards and puppies

Wow - amazing how easy it is to put something off. Suddenly four months have passed, with nary a post. A good part of that is because I cannot find the cable I use to download pictures from my camera. I've acquired a card reader that should take care of that, but it's a bit of a pain to use. Seeing as the primary purpose of this blog is to share pictures with my family, at least half of the time elapsed is due to being unable to upload pictures. The other half is my innate distractibility.

Our latest news: We have a puppy. Her name is Zoe, so far, and she's a seven month old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Sounds fancy, doesn't it? We adore her - most importantly, my son, the dog hater, chose her and loves her. Now, I have to confess, I've always mocked folks who waxed enthusiastic about their toy dog. Toy dog? The first word precludes the second! A dog should be a DOG!, not a toy, or an escaped inmate from Barbie-land. I'm a retriever sort of woman - my current favorite is the flat-coated retriever, beautiful dog - and a major fan of any dog that has a sleek sort of beauty and grace of motion. Spaniels have a lot going for them, but what I consider elegance and grace are not major spaniel attributes. (I will now duck in case of mortar fire from the local spaniel clubs. It's ok, guys - my beloved childhood companion was three quarters spaniel, and while she was not a Mensa candidate, I loved her. Still miss her.) In addition, the Cavalier has slightly buggy eyes. You know what I mean - chihuahuas have the same thing going, and it's what I like least about them. They do have a muzzle, thank god - it's short, but there, unlike the King Charles spaniel. (Those little guys share the same unfortunate characteristic that people bred into persian cats - a genetic SMACK! into a plate glass window at full speed. Unlike Wiley Coyote, they don't get to just shake it off.) The "Cavalier" in front of the rest of the breed name is an important difference.

I am now forced to swallow any number of quips I've made in the past. Not only do I now own a dog that is judged in the 'toy' category - though she's awfully big compared to most toy breeds, seventeen pounds already - a purebred, to boot, but she's already completely won me over. I went to put her in her crate this morning, and couldn't do it. She'd already been stuck for an hour and a half while I dropped my son off at school and went grocery shopping. Before I quite knew what I was doing, I found myself on the phone with my dad, and shortly thereafter, Empress Zoe was being chauffered over to my father's, there to hang out for a couple of hours where she could romp with someone and be loved as was proper, perhaps play with my parents' Sheltie, while I went to teach a lesson.

I am now going to ignore my chores, and my book, and go romp with her in the backyard. She hasn't had enough attention this afternoon.

I am so whipped. Music, studies, marriage, cats, mortgages, children; my head has been held high until now, when I find myself wrapped around the paws of this ridiculously sweet puppy. Did I mention that I bought her a stuffed animal this morning?