Ok, I may or may not be questioning all of my life decisions at this point. How does a 48 year old woman who has homeschooled for ten years, survived three kids through high school and is sitting on the brink of amazing freedom as the youngest moves away for college, end up sitting on the floor of her kitchen at 9:15 on a Thursday morning (with a few tears rolling down her face!?)?
I wish I knew. I wish there was a rewind button to be honest.
Adam, the trainer I called when I got home with this puppy and panicked, was so nice. Through our talking we realized we are both Christians. He has a couple of young kids and a wife. And at 10am on day two with this puppy I seriously typed out a text telling him to pray about taking this puppy off my hands. I didn’t hit send but the message sat there glaring back at me. I decided to give it more than 36 hours. But I still reserve the right to give this puppy away if things don’t get way better way soon!! Judge me if you so wish but omgoodnesssssss. I’m so unsure.
At least she is cute. And funny! (and at least the groomer comes today to clean her up!)
She had a vet appointment. Slept through most of it.
She likes her crate and has gone in on her own several times.
Rolo is very unsure of her which gives me major dog mommy guilt. She tolerates her and has snapped at her a few times to say, “get away from me you little bundle of energy.”
I still let Rolo know she is my first fur baby. And I keep Stella out of Rolo’s space. Last night we had a win—Stella was asleep on the couch and Rolo came up to be with us. They were touching at one point and no one lost their mind.
I look a mess because I am a mess. Physically and emotionally and mentally at this point.
Will Stella survive another day? The ball is in her court.
