I was lamenting to Husband a few weeks ago that I would finally get the kids to bed only to have Dali, Pup Extraordinaire, put her face in mine and demand more attention than I had energy for. She's only 11 months and can go forever. He declared we needed a puppy and I declared he had lost his frickin' mind.
With Husband in town, we could check out puppies at the Rocky Mountain Puppy Rescue booth at the Boulder Creek Festival. Just check out, that's all. We'll just bring a cat crate, that's all. There were two perfect little pups for us--adorable, good mixes (Shepherd/Golden and Lab/Leonberger)--but there was also Chaplin, a 2 year old Lab mix. It was a puppy rescue, so there were no shortage of ridiculously cute puppies surrounding this guy, making it even less likely that he would find a home. Boy originally wanted a little one who showered him with affection and nibbles. I saw housebreaking, chewed kid's toys, losing the pup in the house. Chap lolled on the ground and demanded tummy rubs. He was already housebroken, was fine with cats, and had lots of energy. Husband and I liked the idea of an adult dog for our sake but also for the dog's. Boy was adamant he wanted a 2 month old puppy for 30 minutes, then suddenly he put down the ball of fur in his lap, looked up and said, "You know, I think Chaplin is the better dog. Let's get him." We passed our interview, and took this guy home.
He didn't fit in the cat crate, but turns out he's a pro at riding in cars already.