My Dog, My Virginity, and My Job Walk Into a Blog Post

Yesterday was my puppy Jack/Jack-Jack/Jack-Jack-Attack/Jacques Cousteau's third birthday.

*Pesky facts aside: Yesterday was (most likely not) my puppy Jack's 3rd birthday. We found him behind a trash can. However, yesterday was day (20 years ago) that I lost my (first*) you-know-what, and I thought it would be kind of nice to have a reason to eat cake and have a party on that day every single year for the next 12-15, the dog-gods willing. Because I'm glad I lost my you-know-what, and I'm glad I found a puppy behind a trash can. So.

Funny thing, giving your dog a piece of birthday cake that's shaped a lot like a slice of pizza. It's not that they don't totally get the concept of fire, it's just that they don't totally get the concept of fire. Or waiting to eat their birthday cake that's shaped a lot like a slice of pizza until you've all sung off key and blown their candles out for them. They also don't get the concept of birthdays. Bygones. 

And if you give a dog a piece of birthday cake that's shaped a lot like a slice of pizza and it also happens to smell a lot like pizza, your dog will give you the above look. Which totally makes is all worth it. 

Today is my one-year anniversary at BlogHer. I celebrated by having a baby with my boss.  This is what it looks like

*In case you're in the market aside: Jenna Hatfield make an excellent midwife/80's rap earworm-implanter.

I kind of can't believe it's been a year since I started working for the same company who has done so much for me over these past eight years I've been blogging. I always used to tell anyone who asked that I could only credit any measure of success I've ever been blessed with to Lisa Stone, who believed in me and my writing before I even knew what I was doing was worth being called writing, and WAY before I had any idea that *I* was worth much of anything at all.  And now I get to get up every morning and try very hard to do that which was done for me? And I get to do it with a team of some of the most amazingly smart, talented, sharp, and well-shod women I've ever had the honor of working with?

That's a cyclic relationship that I am totally happy to perpetuate. 

*You never get a second chance at a first impression, but for $65,000, you can get a second chance at losing your you-know-what. I don't really suggest it. 

So that happened, in three acts.

Act one: I got all Preachy Mc Bloggerson at my Babble Voices today about that Time magazine Attachment Parenting article. Which is only of note because I don't normally give a rat's ass about breastfeeding, anything-parenting, or Time magazine. I don't even know who I am anymore. 

Act two: I managed to compare the conference I am charging with the programming management of to Tengen Tetris. That actually isn't of note at all; I compare most everything to Tengen Tetris. 

Act Three: I have this thing with helpless animals who have no one to take care of them. I went to a flea market to get a plant stand and came home with Plant Stand Fail. Whoopsie.

I took Plant Stand Fail for a walk and Trash Can Ninja popped his little dirty unhomed head out from around the trash can he was trying to find something edible in. Oh, crap

I met this cute guy at a bar with mommy issues and no car an.....oh, I can't even be that mean. Today. 

Because today this puppy was hanging out on my cul-de-sac all morning, driving Plant Stand Fail into a braking tizzy of Beagleic proportions. When I left this afternoon to take my kid out for some medicine, it was on the porch, soaking wet, and very happy to see us outside. Mother of Pearl. 

I drove away, friends. I want to state that for the record. 

And while I was gone, my 12 year old came home and informed me that there was a cute black puppy on the porch. 

I told him to go inside and ignore it, friends. I want to state that for the record, too.

I got home from the store and he was outside, giving it some water. I noticed that its hipbones were sticking out a little. I gave it just a little of the giant bag of dogfood I'd just bought. Some so many/others so few. It's not like it's any secret that I'm nothing more than a commie socialist at heart. Blame Canada. 

We agreed to walk it around the block, slowly and deliberately, so that the owner would see us and scream at us for stealing their puppy. So we did. My sons walked it for forty minutes, in fact.

When they came back, we agreed to keep the puppy in the back yard until tonight when we could walk it again. After a while in the backyard, the storm-clouds started rolling in and we realized we might just have to being it inside for just a little while tonight while the storm passed, you know? 

So we gave it a bath. Just to get it clean enough for my nice couches, mind you. Record, and all. 

And when we got to scrubbing it, we realized it A) was slightly more skeleton than a puppy should be and B) had the beginnings of a case of the fleas. So we fed it some more. And then, naturally, we had to get it some flea medication. 

And then my boss asked for a picture of it, and I didn't send one for a while, because when you take a picture of a stray dog, that's like signing a pre-nup. 

My boss made me do it. I want that on the freaking record. But we aren't naming her, goddamn it. We ARE NOT NAMING HER ANY NAMES LIKE MITTENS OR SHEERA OR MARYANNE JUST SO I CAN CROSS #15 OFF MY LIFE LIST

And now She Who Must Not Be Named is tired, after a long day of meeting Plant Stand Fail and Trash Can Ninja and basically eating food and being taken care of, so we have to let her come inside for some rest. After all, she's just a helpless puppy.

It's raining out. 

She has no where else to go. 

I am a motherfucking id.i.ot. 

With three dogs.