Hello, Newman

Old Newman is my constant companion. He's always there when I need him, but because I hardly ever need him, he's mostly just always there.

Newman and I have this complex relationship. When we first met, he was introduced to me by his proud best buddy, who would eventually end up as my husband, so we acknowledged each other and I even threw in a nice shake of his ears. Years later, we were reintroduced, and though I thought he smelled overpowerfully of dog, I had a future family to impress so I played nice. And our friendship has just been blossoming like a summer rose ever since.

As of today, I would describe our relationship like the weird relationship you might have with a neighbor or ward member you just don't like very much for no reason at all - but with whom the feeling is mutual. Like one day you'll be feeling especially generous and you'll go give your neighbor a pat on the back and say, "Hey Newman" and he'll be so touched and have that look of neglect suppressed in his eye and you feel pretty good about your relationship. Then later, as you're trying to watch HGTV, he comes over and plants his big hairy butt right where your feet are supposed to go and continually farts until you give up and move out of his house. 

Like that kind of neighbor. 

Well tough cookies, Newman! I have nowhere else to go. I mean, I suppose I could retreat into the basement if I weren't so sure you would follow me down there and fill all four rooms of my temporary home with dog hair, dog dandruff, and dog stank. 

Take today for example. I work from my laptop - you know. So I get all set up at the bar where there are six - read it: six - barstools and run to grab a drink. When I come back, I see that Newman has planted himself right underneath the one barstool I chose to sit at. So I gingerly try to nudge him out of my way and he growls at me! Repeatedly! And wrenches his big old head around and threatens to bite me!

I swear, one day I'll be left home alone with Newman and he'll just rip me apart. It'll be a majestic murder-suicide, as I'm sure he'll kill himself doing it. His poor old heart will simply explode from all the energy it'll take to pin me to the ground. It'll be a tough job, by jove, but he'll do it. He's just waiting for the day.

Life with a toddler - Newman wouldn't have it any other way.