puppy

This morning, as I approached Maia in her crib, the first word out of her mouth was...

"PUPPY"!

Of course. Why say the name of the woman who stumbles out of bed multiple times to soothe your teething pain with tylenol and cuddling during the night and rises to give you milk and love and a fresh diaper in the morning? Who wouldn't begin the day by beckoning for their favourite furry friend?

In addition to wet kisses and quiet companionship, "puppy" doesn't open your mouth against your will to put local anesthetic on your swollen gums. "Puppy" doesn't make you put on the unwanted extra layers when it's time to go outside. Nor does "puppy" decide you've climbed and descended the stairs enough times in order to procrastinate the nap that awaits at the top. It seems that "puppy" has become her best friend.

She's oblivious to the fact that her furry friend has had a rough couple of weeks. Phil sliced the pad of his paw straight through two weeks ago and bled through his bandages for about a week and a half. He's sufficiently healed up now -- phew -- and we're relieved that we're on the other side of the 'please-don't-eat-this-bandage-off-too' days we've been having.

Our local vet calls Phil a "bourgeois"... always on an adventure regardless of the trouble it will get him into.

But Maia just calls him "puppy". Constantly.