Kelly B.com

Roni ate some bbq baby back rib bones...whole. If that's not enough to give me a heart attack I don't know what is. To cut to the chase...he's fine. He's as frisky as ever but we have to closely observe him because there's a good chance he'll pass it. But if he doesn't he's going to be rather uncomfortable and verbal about it, so either way we have to stay attentive to him and inspect his poop for bones or blood. What a sexy thought, right? Because everyone gets a dog to deal with piles and piles of poop. But he's acting perfectly happy and content so I guess my worries are still unfounded. I was really pissed at Trevor for giving him those bones in the first place but I understand it's not explicitly his fault. Roni was going to eat something whole eventually anyway. Wanna see our little man? He's huge already and I'm lamenting the loss of puppy but I'm rather proud of what a handsome little fellow he is. But I'll be psyched

Puppy motherhood has been interesting. I wish I had a lot to talk about but it's mostly just been a monotonous repetition of the prior day's events. Wake up way earlier than I should so he can go do his Roni business outside. Take him inside. Prep his breakfast. Watch him eat it and make sure he's being pet and doesn't get overly possessive and aggressive about his food. Play with him for at least 10 minutes or so. Take him out again to relieve himself about half an hour after eating. Take him back in. Make my own coffee. Try to pack something to eat for lunch. Get dressed for work and then my day actually begins and I go on my way to the office. Then he spends the day with Trevor and I take the pup out again once I get home. By then he's typically exploding with joy to see another one of his humans. He's extra frisky lately. I don't know what happened to the timid little puppy we got before but he's been replaced with a much more outgoing people fr

Pupperoni is settling in fine. He's...eccentric. And not in that puppy way that everyone hears about with the chewing your shoes and eating your homework and pooping on the rug. That's normal puppy stuff. My Pupperoni's first night was fraught with anxiety. The poor dear hardly moved. His first day? Mostly spent in his crate. He was just so overwhelmed that I think he felt that if he stayed in his crate at least that was a smaller less crazy start. He did warm up considerably with the addition of very tiny tennis balls that he could fit into his mouth and play with. His second day he was more like a puppy and less like a cat. He played. He licked. He chased things. And each consecutive day is another step closer to success. My mom already thinks he's a genius, but I guess that's natural for all grandmothers to say. But he can recognize his name and sit on command so it says a lot about him. He knows his puppy parents and he loves us enough to give us many snugg

Hi Internet, we got a puppy! Wanna meet him? Isn't he precious? I know I was concerned about the whole labrador thing but who could say no to that? Or this? (Please ignore the rolls of insulation. DON'T JUDGE ME.) We've been talking about it for a long time but the opportunity arose today pick him up because he was the very last of his litter and his breeders were rather anxious to give him a home after placing all the rest of his siblings. They described him as their mellow love bug. I was sold. He's rather gigantic for 8 weeks, but he really is a sweetheart. He didn't cry, bark or whimper the whole ride home. We're working out the name but so far I've been calling him Pupperoni. Because I like it. There's really no amazing story to go with that. I like food names. I was also open to calling him Blanket but Trevor thought it would be creepy to call our dog the same name as the kid Michael Jackson dangled over a balcony. True enough. But really