Here is a family portrait. It moves me, it's special to me. I want to frame it and share it. Hell, I am proud of it. This is wierd, as it is a picture of three mutts, of which only one is even ours.
So here I am with flutters in my heart at the sight of this photograph - why? I think I have fallen in love, a little teeny bit, with The Puppy. And the sight of The Puppy with her Dear Mum and Dad makes me happy (even if Dad cocked his leg seconds after this pic was taken). This, of course, is obvious and inevitable I hear you cry, puppies are cute and programmed to instill love in the owner. But I love her more as she gets less cute. When she was tiny she was unknowable, stolen. Now she is ours, and real and solid. She smells lovely and is suitably grumpy, and can gleefully retrieve a ball without barking or making a fuss. She can do a car journey without being sick and still sleeps on the same chair she used to when she arrived, only now she can't fit and all her extremities hang off the edges.
Puppy love. Good job. Until recently I simply put up with having a dog because the rest of the family wanted one and I could see it was a Good Thing. Now? Carefully making sure I am appreciating the benefits and trying to stop counting the ways that they aren't a pain in the backside and an infringment of my personal liberty....
