"The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful." E.E.Cummings

Wow, it's been two weeks today since Brandy came to live in our home, and with this our lives have forever been changed. Having a Jack Russell puppy is like unleashing a tornado in the confines of your kitchen. If you are not prepared with all the appropriate apparatus, be assured of impending disaster. As my husband so aptly put it, Brandy is like a toddler with the quickness and agility of a Jackrabbit. Everything from food crumbs (my husbands) to leaves to dogie litter goes into her mouth. All objects ending up on the floor within her domain are presumed  to be her property. Just try to take it away!

As a proud parent, I look back at the highlights of these last two weeks and at the humor of our situation as the owners of an eight week old Jack Russell puppy. In our world, now known as puppy-land (adage coined by my daughter), the horrors immortalized by past puppies has returned fourteen years later. How much quicker those past puppy disasters surface when Brandy's piranha-like teeth are connected to my baby toe. There is an art to learning to traverse the kitchen with a puppy attached to your pant's leg, and it takes time. Luckily a word from the past came to mind. Redirect flashed across my brain just in the nick of time, which shattered the impulse to fling my annoying furball across the room. I used the Bully Bone to redirect in a positive way. They soon became my best friend, occasssionaly acting as a crowbar to pry her needle like teeth off my hand. Like a smelly pacifier, I watched Brandy peacefully gnaw it, and thankful that it replaced her need for my blood. But all kidding aside, the Bully stick has been my savior. My toes, fingers, ears, and all other bodily projections are also very grateful.

The first three days of my self imposed exile to the kitchen were a blur, but one thing did become clear during that time. I could not continue to spend my days sitting on the floor waiting patiently for our Brandy to become a grown up dog. Between getting up and down, the cold floor, and the auto reflexes needed to escape her razor sharp teeth, I felt like a truck had hit me, not a four and a half pound furball. I recommend you have the phone numbers of a good chiropractor and masseuse at hand. Oh, and a good chair.

On day three my husband brought down the chair from my writing desk, and my laptop also appeared on the scene, adding to the clutter and the chaos. Our once beautifully appointed kitchen had morphed into a gigantic playpen; with dog pen, dog bed, dog crate, puppy litter box, dogie rug, and a dozen or so bones and toys. All evidence pointing to the fact that not only had my life changed, but my environment as well. My space had been transformed into a safe haven, a protected space, a world in which I was now responsible for the care of a little brown eyed package of love and boundless energy. And in the quite of that morning I asked aloud for Rhea to help. If she was looking down on me, I needed her now. I needed her to look out for not just the puppy but for the mom, and see to it that I did my job, be a good mom. I missed my grown up dog. Even with all the joy and love that this puppy brings to our home, she was not a replacement of my companion, for my best friend, Ms.Rhea.

In dawns early light, when life is in balance and harmony, Brandy sleeps, eyes small black slits, motionless in my lap,and I am reminded of the simpler joys in life. Feed me, play with me, love me.