Have you met my better half, Doormat? I mean, Husbandguy?

I told Husbandguy that he could stop the whole puppy thing if he really wanted to, and, although I think he feels kind of railroaded, he agreed to go to the animal shelter, knowing full well that we would end up with a dog if we did. All he had to do was say no. It wouldn't have been easy. It wouldn't have sounded like this: HG: "No." MN: "Okay." But he could say it and win, eventually. He actually still could because we've applied for a dog and bought a book about dog training, but we don't have the dog yet. Keep your fingers crossed for us, okay?
She's not a puppy, but she might be one of those dogs that pees when she's excited. She's actually pretty sweet and calm. She's just the right size for our little life. Pete and I dreamed about her all night last night. And she's got a cute little underbite. The other sweet, little dog we visited with, who was just a little bit bigger, had scruffy wiry hair, and was measurably more energetic, sniffed Pete in an awkward place twice. Moomie said she wouldn't come visit us anymore if we got a dog that did that... Fortunately the Jack Russel terrier puppies had all been adopted because we're not ready for a puppy and they would have been hard to resist.

So today we're going to put our toys away and make the house dog-ready to show HG that we're serious, and maybe he'll let us go buy a crate and a dog bowl and a leash and a rubber bone so when they call us and say, "Come get her!" we'll be ready.