Drumroll, please! It's PUPPY TIME!

You may have noticed that some time has elapsed since the last posting. Keeping up with feedings, waking up in the middle of the night, cleaning up messes...you'd think I'd just had a baby! The dark circles around my eyes make me very approachable, let me tell you. I'm definitely not cranky at all. Hahaha! At 2AM when I'm standing outside in my pajamas, congratulating a little furball on using the bathroom, I like to think about how this tale began.

When Brandon was accepted to school here, I agreed to move up to Chicago on one condition. Since I would be friendless, jobless, and therefore, lifeless, I insisted on a puppy. The puppy would firstly be my friend, then introduce me to other friends as we walked around town, and then those friends would help me blossom into a well-connected, cosmopolitan socialite. Plus, puppies are just so darn cute! Well, weeks of searching for the perfect dog went by. Prices were too high, the litters were snatched up before I could get to the phone, and the ones we could agree on happened to live in Wyoming. Finally, FINALLY, we saw an ad for Westies in a town only 2 hours away.

We made the trip out, coaching one another on "if" we like the puppy, "if" the breeders are reputable, "if" they look like Westies should, only then would we buy the puppy. Of course, three minutes into meeting the puppies, we choose the girl we want. After letting us bond for quite awhile, the breeder tells us that this little runt is "the pick of the litter" and costs much more than the regular price. Great. I guess you CAN pick out a sucker when they walk in the door. This young Southern married couple agreed to pay the price after a bit of protest. What can we say? She was too cute to resist.

Suddenly, the story takes a turn for the worse. Pocky (like the Thai snack! NOT pronounced Pokey, thank you very much) comes home with us and acts very strange. By the next day, she has stomach troubles. We take her to the breeder-recommended vet (the breeder pays for this visit) and the dog has... a parasite! Two different medicines are needed, one of which is a pill. I'm AWFUL at giving dogs pills, but I do what I must. By the NEXT day, she can't keep anything down and is sick the ENTIRE morning. So, I wander the streets until I can find where Brandon parked the car (no assigned parking here, and because of street cleaning, we have to move it every day), lay Pocky down on towels and newspapers, and rush off to the vet, who just happens to be an hour and a half away. Long story short, Pocky is hospitalized for two days, complete with IV and catheter (and a hospital gown, I'm sure), and finally stabilizes. Breeder pays, and Brandon and Rachel are victorious in getting the original price for the puppy when you consider all the hospital bills the breeder had to pay for! Our heroes win again!

So, NOW, we finally have an actual puppy who does puppy-like things like crying in the night and eating five times her weight in food. She has also attracted more attention than we can handle any time we walk around town with her. The first time we were ever asked, "Is it a puppy?" Brandon responded in a shocked tone, "Of course she is! She doesn't look like a cat at all!!" Sigh... Afterwards, I mention offhand, "I think he just wanted to know if she was full grown." "Oh."

And so the adventures of Brandon and Rachel in Chicago continue, but at a slower pace since we are now basically homebound until she's trained... Tune in next time for "Brandon Starts His 3 Days a Week, 2 Hours a Day Grueling Class Schedule". Till then!