Dogs are so 2004

I remember when I owned the yarn store, a new mother came in and declared that she was over her dog. I remember being shocked--SHOCKED--by this announcement. Now, I admit that I was a bit crazy about my dog back then. 

(Yes, this is a portrait my friend Lettie Jane painted me for my birthday. Because at the time, I could think of nothing I wanted more than a painting of my dog.)

Harper is a 3 legged Jack Russell terrier/Beagle mix (I like to say that he has the anxiety of a Jack Russell and the self-esteem of a beagle.) He is a total pain in the ass. He never stops whining. You can never scratch him enough on his legless side. If he was a person, he'd be Woody Allen, except a Woody Allen who doesn't date hot women like Diane Keaton. We often joke that he's bald, that he suffers from "dog-pattern baldness." His middle name is "Owen" after the Danny DeVito character from Through Mama from the Train.

Anyway, Harper was like my kid. He slept in our bed. He cuddled with us on the couch. We actually got Desmond, our beagle, because we thought that Harper needed company. Yes, we got a pet for our pet.

But then I had a baby. Like a real, human one. And the dogs were immediately demoted to second class citizens of my affections.

Now I completely understand what that mama knitter meant. I am totally over my dogs. OVER THEM.

This whole post was going to be about the back room that we cleaned out for them. (Side note: I remember Jonathan suggested just such a thing a few years ago, and I was like, "NO! You can't put our baby back there! It's drafty!")

See? It's nice (and there are no more Saab parts and bolts, which is even better).

But all Harper does is whine like crazy when he's back there. So I let him into the house, and then he whines because there's food on the table, or he's itchy, or whatever. 

Ugh, have I mentioned that I'm totally over my dogs?