First of all I just have to tell you that I have laughed until I cried reading about the pet peeves in the comments yesterday. They were all fantastic, but I think when Tara said she can’t sit on a warm toilet seat has done me in. I’ve laughed until I cannot laugh any more. And then when I stopped laughing for a while I started all over again with the laughing. Because waiting until the toilet seat cools off is an absolute must. A must, I tell you. But enough about that, you want to know who guessed right, right?

The P in emily p. freeman stands for Patrice.

Elizabeth, Sarah, Joanna, Lisa S., Lisa B. and Lynda all guessed right. If you guessed Patrice after midnight last night, I just can’t count it because that’s when I announced the answer. I couldn’t keep up with the comments through the day and by the time I had a chance to check, 6 people had guessed right. So you all 6 get a book! I’ve sent you an email so check your inbox. 

I hate to have to do this, but I’m writing another dog post. I don’t know what’s next after this. Will I set a place for Finn at the table? Let him lick me on the mouth? Who can say. Well, I can. I can say. I will not set a place for him at the table. But I will let him have a play date with his sister.

As soon as they got out of their car, I knew we were gonna have fun. I mentioned last weekend that Finn’s sister was coming to have a visit. They’ve not seen each other since they forged their way through the dark of night, warding off predators and scrounging for food as puppies alone in the harsh world. I wasn’t sure what to expect from her, and  I was a little worried she would be demure and delicate and Finn would eat her for second breakfast. But Rosie showed up equally energetic, half his size and ready to play. She didn’t have a pink bow between her ears, she made up for it with her pink, puffy jacket.

They wrestled for an hour and chased and barked and had way too much fun. I completely believe they recognized each other. If you want to see the entire ridiculous photo album, it is here on Facebook. I can’t imagine that you would be busy or otherwise occupied 2 days before Christmas. Really.

Thank you all so much for the thought you put into helping me on Thursday. Even more, thank you for reading, for supporting, for saying encouraging things and for being your encouraging selves. Not having a title for your book is like not having a name for your baby . . . a week after she is born. And she sleeps there in her crib without a monogram on her blankies. Everyone asks what you call her and you start to describe the color of her hair and how much she weighs, but really they kind of just want to know her name and maybe a middle name and then they will move on.

In other news, we got a dog. Oh wait, I already told you that. It’s been three weeks and the thing I never thought would happen has happened. It feels normal. Still, our cable, phone, and internet were out for two days because of the fence we had put up because of the dog. And the dog has now chewed on nearly every piece of furniture I own. And I now say No, Finn and Who let the dog out? more often than I inhale. And I’ve cleaned up dog barf while singing Whoooo Let the Dogs Out? because that song is pretty much always in my head now. How can this possibly feel normal? I have no answers. But it just kind of does. I call it a miracle.

I hope you are having a fantastic Labor Day Weekend. See you on Tuesday for Tuesdays Unwrapped!

If you are a person who loves dogs, you probably won’t understand what I’m about to say. And you will desperately try for all kinds of ways to convince me of things. But in the same way that you say people who do not love the dogs just can’t understand, I will tell you that people who love the dogs won’t get me.

The First Night

I sit still in my bed, 3:30am; I’m aware of the little furry body in the crate near the door. I can’t believe I’ve let this thing into my house, into my haven, my balanced home that functions for people. I scratch my leg, then my neck and thoughts of fleas overwhelm me so much that I have to get up. He’s an animal! In my house! The voice teases me loud while I try to reason with it, how American people get dogs. And I’m an American person. Why am not loving this dog?

Because he is a dog. And I am not a person who loves the dogs. I have no compartment for  dog care, no experience for what to do with one. I have never had a dog and I’ve never, ever wanted one. There are no dog-loving pathways in my brain, no memories of dogs past, no times of longing for a dog friend. I feel un-qualified and nervous, like there are dog rules that I don’t know about yet. I also feel distinctly un-patriotic and wonder if people would protest in front of my house if only they knew.

Now before you call the Humane Society, my husband knows about the dogs. He has had the dogs and loves the dogs. And he lives here and I love him, so it works out. In fact, we’ve been married for nine years and there is a laugh I’ve never heard until now. It is the happy dog laugh. And it makes me love him even more. The man, not the dog. But maybe the dog a little.

In preparation for this puppy, I’ve read the Dog Whisperer, and everything he says makes sense. But what if I’m not a person who can do that? I’m not sure anyone realizes how anxious I feel in my bones, how afraid I am to do something wrong, how I both desperately want the dog to like me and also wish he would go away.

And it occurs to me at 4am how the Creator has things he wants to teach me about his creation. For a quick moment, I am thankful for the dog, for the things I am already learning about myself and my unwillingness to trust the process. I am prone to fear, to worry, to dread and the manipulation of outcomes. My first instinct is to resist change and then when it comes, to grieve and worry and sit in my fear.

I have never wanted to change my personality more than I want to in this moment. How I wish I were more laid-back, more open, more free. The last time I felt this type of uneasiness was when we brought babies home from the hospital. And that was something I prepared for, longed for, wanted and still, the anxiety and responsibility weighed heavy.

Yet here I am with a dog in my sunroom, my pretty sunroom made for people. He chews and he gallops and sleeps on my floor like he belongs here. He is an animal and he lives in my house. Houses are not for animals, they are for people, right? And then I remember how I love the people in my house, and how very much my people wanted a dog. And I remember the whispered, prayer of surrender: I’m willing, Lord. Bring the right one, Lord. I know he gives good gifts. I know he longs to provide, even in this. And so I trust even in the midst of my anxiety. I walk the dog, I feed the dog, I even laugh at the dog. It is work, this loving. It does not come natural for me. But really, no love is real without work.

The Second, Third, Fourth & Fifth Night