And they called it puppy love

When I was growing up, we had a black lab mix named Buffy. Considering she flunked out of obedience school, she was actually a pretty smart dog and fit in well with the family. She didn't chew up the sofa or dig up the rosebushes; she came when she was called and peed outside. A good family dog.


Nevertheless, when it was time for Buffy to go on to her eternal reward, my parents were not so heartbroken that they rushed out to get a new dog. No, if they were asked "when does life begin?" they would answer "when the kids leave home and the dog dies."


And their life began. Going and coming as they pleased, no kennel visits to coordinate or nails to trim or baths to give or vet visits to pay for. No dog hair to sweep up and no worries about what they would step on in the yard. What a great life!


Then, my sister got a little maltese puppy named Chloe. She is a white little fluffball with hair bows and pink sequin collars, and my mom was concerned that when my sister went to work, the neighbors at my sister's apartment complex would be bothered with all the puppy whining that was sure to go on. So, perhaps, Chloe should come stay at HER house while my sister was at work. Just for a few weeks, you see, until Chloe got used to her new home.



That was 5 months ago. The doggy daycare business is still in full swing. Yesterday, Chloe got spayed. My mom picked her up at the vet this morning and has spent the day rocking her and petting her and loving on her, and my dad has spent his day at work researching canine pain relief on the internet. These are the people that would not let the beloved Buffy walk on their new wood floors. Now they have the beloved Chloe following them all over the house, calling her sweet nothings and fixing her hair.




Can you blame them? Just look at those little puppy eyes!







Good thing she was spayed today. Can you imagine what would happen with doggy grandchildren?!?