We have a puppy in the house. And even if I didn’t tell you, and if, for some reason the little gremlin didn’t greet you coming into the door by licking your feet and stealing your shoes, you would know by the pile he has collected on the floor in our living room of all of the shoes he has successfully confiscated. He’s a hoarder of all smelly and chewable things and he gathers them up from all corners of our home and yard and brings them back to the nice pink fluffy blanket he’s claimed as his own on the living room rug so that he can lay among them.

Nothing is safe here, as everyone who has ever had a puppy in the house knows. If you’re sitting at our kitchen counter and you just casually drop a flip flop or a Birkensock, as one might in a comfortable conversation, it is gone within seconds. Same with a slipper. And, if God forbid, you let a pair of your underwear drop to the ground, out of nowhere, the puppy appears like a thief in the night. And the thing is, you might not even notice until someone stops over for a visit and there’s your undies, right smack in the middle of the floor. Or worse, he might drop them at the guest’s feet along with every stuffed animal my daughters own and their socks and random dish towels, but that’s just the inside things.

Our puppy, a little toy Australian shepherd named Scootch, really likes to bring the outside in, and he likes to do it incognito. Like, I didn’t notice the half-decayed mouse he found on our walk tucked discreetly in his little snout until I smelled it while attempting a living room lounge. How quickly our life switches to chase mode in situations like this—the little turd doesn’t give up his treasures without a fight. Treasures like acorns and dead toads and sticks and little weird bones and rocks. Remember, we live in a wild place, and this world is his oyster. 

Why do we have a puppy? Because our ranch dogs are getting older, for one thing. And another thing is the girls like to have those old ranch dogs in the house, and in their beds, and on the couch in the living room. And if you remember what I just said, we live in a wild place, one that for a ranch dog, includes at least one roll in squishy cow poop a day, one or two swims in the stock dam, a few runs through the hills to pick up burs and ticks and a lot of things to eat that aren’t helpful in the breath department. But these old dogs love the inside arrangement so much that they have taken to letting themselves in to sleep on Rosie’s bed when everyone in the house is gone to work and school. It’s always fun to discover the dog-shaped dirt outline on the bedspread and pillow when I get home, the dogs being smart enough to vacate the premise before they’re caught red-handed. It’s a real Goldilocks situation we have going here.

Which, I guess, doesn’t really explain the puppy situation better except that it seems like every time my husband and I experience something a bit traumatic (like, oh I don’t know, another cancer diagnosis?) we wind up adding a new animal to the ranch population. (It’s how we wound up with a pug who thought he was a cow dog a long time ago, but that’s a story for the archives.)  Last time I went through the cancer thing, I convinced everyone that the girls needed a little white pony I saw on Facebook. I was heavily medicated and my family would do anything I said because they were worried and so that’s how we found ourselves with an arthritic pony with an attitude problem.

When I was in Rochester this spring, I spent a lot of my six-week stint taking walks and missing my old dogs on the ranch. And so consequently, I also spent time doing research on the best kind of pup I could bring home that would love ranch life and walks and be a more reasonable pet to live in the house and snuggle on our furniture. And so, I found Scootch. The idea that once we got to the end of the rough stuff, the girls and I would have a little pup to take care of wound up to be the perfect plan in the end. It helps to have things  We sure love him and his soft fluffy coat and smarts and playful nature. And it doesn’t mean the big dogs are out forever, let me be clear, but given how little they enjoy the bath part of being inside dogs, I think they’re ok with this replacement, as long as the little dog keeps his distance and saves some stinky stuff for them.