On Getting a Puppy

I convinced my husband to let me get a puppy.

Before you scold me, saying, “Jenn, you have a dog, three cats, three sheep, two goats, and three chickens. Why the fuck do you want a puppy?” Before you say that… let me explain.

Yes, we have a dog. He is terrific. Doesn’t bite. Doesn’t shit in the house. Doesn’t chew anything. He occasionally will move my shoes, but that’s okay. It’s kinda funny. He’s loyal. Sweet. He listens.

He’s also lazy as fuck. For example, I took him hiking one time this past summer. Drove two hours to Mount Washington. The dog sat down and refused to walk upwards.

I can’t do that. He’s more than welcome to chill on the couch, but I need someone who will go with me and enjoy it. My husband is typically too busy, William doesn’t have the stamina, and I can’t keep up with high school kids. So… the natural thought progression would be to get a puppy.

So, I am.

And he is adorable.

And more importantly, he’s a Siberian Husky and he will be the ultimate hiking partner. And frankly, I’m excited.

I’m nervous, too. My best friend, my soul mate, my dog, my DOG, died last spring. It was devastating. I had to take time off work, I was so wrecked over this. He was the partner. Not just hiking, in life. He did everything with me. I feel like I’m starting over with a new partner, which feels slightly like betrayal. I know it’s not, but that’s how it feels.

William tells me I should name him Odin. Jury’s still out, but I’ll post updates as they come.

Pip pip,



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