raising a puppy is easy

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just so long as you're willing to hold, entertain and/or watch him like a hawk 24/7, of course.

by day three, the invader had pretty much consolidated his complete and utter takeover of the household, and i decided it was time to bring in the enforcer--you know, lay down some rules, establish discipline, show him who's boss.

i'll let you judge for yourself how that went.

the craigslist rule strikes again...and again

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don't get me wrong--nobody loves craigslist more than me; it's been a reliable source of entertainment (not to mention other things) over the years.  that being said, however, it has one significant downside that pops up with such night-follows-day regularity that i've posited a theorem, which goes as follows:

the more perfect the item you find on craigslist, the further
away it will be.

and i don't care what you're looking for--be it used cars, used DVDs or used men--this rule seems to hold true.

case in point:  i've decided i'm ready to have a dog in my life once more.  after much consideration, i settled on the breed and started looking.  it's turned out to be harder than i thought, so i was happy when earlier this week an ad popped up for a very photogenic 7-month-old male whose family reluctantly had to give him up.  the fact that this ideal specimen happened to reside in

caused neither surprise nor dismay--hell, an experienced craigslister such as i wasn't gonna let something as minor as a four-hour round trip get between me and the perfect dog.

marcy, his owner, rhapsodized about how great blackie was--quiet, well-behaved, good with children--so we made an appointment for 2:00 this afternoon, and i made the trek out to see him.

i was greeted at the door by marcy herself, who thrust a wide-eyed, trembling little creature into my arms--legs splayed, stiff as a board and refusing even to look at me. when i knelt down, sat him on the floor and tried to pet him, he slunk away under the couch, and there he stayed despite attempts to coax him out with any number of treats.  marcy explained, "he's always been a little nervous; i'm not sure why", as her twin four-year-olds came shrieking into the room, knocking over furniture and hurling toys at each other.  i said my goodbyes and wished her luck in finding blackie, if not a good home, then at least a good PTSD therapist.

back home--tired, whole day shot--i opened craigslist to see if anything new had popped up, and lo and behold, there he was:  eight weeks old and freshly weaned.  the owner told me that three other people had called, but none had been willing to make the drive that night to--where, you ask? oh, c'mon, you're not keeping up.

and how does this story end?  let's just cut to the chase:

meet sebastian.