Two years ago (almost to the day), we lost our big boy Maximus. Meaning that two years ago, I cried tears of sadness. And then tears of joy. My house was mine again. No more dog hair. No more drool. I declared to the world that we were DONE. No more big dogs to ruin my home! I. am. the QUEEN of my domain!
And then this happened.
Yap it up, everyone. Clearly, I think I hold a lot more power in this house than I actually do. If you’ve been watching over on IG, you know that I’m not really a dog person. I love the companionship and the fuzzy hugs. But it kind of ends there for me. Cue the pitchforks.
My husband’s family is Irish. He’s a copper puppy. We got him days before St. Patrick’s Day. It was a no-brainer. IRISH, it is.
Like Maximus, he’s a bullmastiff. He’s 8 weeks old. So yes, I’m aware of how big he’ll get. #lordhelpme
So let’s recap.
I have a dog I didn’t want.
I have no control over my family.
Irish is THE cutest puppy in all the land.
And one more thing. When will this guy stop hating him?
I’m asking for a friend.
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