I rarely make impulse decisions, but there was one this past weekend I could not pass up.
You could argue it was not that impulsive, since Callie and I had been talking about getting a puppy for Ellie and Sarah since before Christmas.
A dog is a big commitment, so I wanted it to be the right dog, and I wanted it to be the right timing.
Prior to Sunday, I had never owned a dog in my adult life.
I’ve been holding out for a special breed – the free breed.
I was thumbing through Facebook on Saturday night, when I saw Jackie Fratesi was advertising six Australian mix puppies, free to a good home. They actually belonged to some really nice Teach for America teachers.
When she messaged me a picture of the last remaining dog, I knew that was the one.
We decided to keep it a secret from Ellie and promised her a big surprise after church on Sunday.
When I say my oldest is smart, I mean it.
As we were loading up after church, I said, “Ellie, what do you think your surprise is?”
She responded, “A puppy dog.”
“Why would you say that?” I asked.
“Because Ellie needs that,” she quipped back.
We laughed but didn’t let on that she hit right on the head, but I admit it kind of took some of the wind out of our sails.
So at 1:30 on Sunday afternoon, we became a dog family.
Then it came time to name him.
If you recall, I wrote a column back in the fall about a bizarre encounter I had on the Alabama coast at a swanky dinner party.
I got into a six-minute conversation with a guy named Buster that had me laughing for days.
I wrote about Buster and some of the quirky and unintentionally hilarious things he said and did.
I was looking through a website at a list of top male dog names, there it was. Buster.
I knew right away that was his name.
The girls love Buster, although Sarah is a tad afraid/jealous of the animal right now.
That didn’t stop him from falling in love with Sarah. He chases her all through the house.
Ellie told Buster the story of The Three Bears to put him to sleep on Sunday afternoon.
Best of all, I love the dog. Worst of all, he doesn’t care for me. He loves Callie.
I call him, and he doesn’t come.
I whistle, and he just stares at me, but if Callie is walking around, he’s at her feet the entire time.
I hope that he’ll come around, because he only seems to want to go outside with Callie, and if she has to keep getting up in the middle of the night to take care of that duty, it’ll be me instead of Buster in the doghouse.
