Remember back in July when I was in a car accident and my dog died? I mean, separately, but within hours of each other. My beloved minivan and the friend who saved my life both went to the great beyond in the same sucky 24-hour period.
Well, this week, God made all things new. While I can never replace the good times or special stinky smells of my red van and little Spike, this week I have a new (used) minivan and little pup to pee on my floor.
After finally replacing the van, I told Alex I’d only be able to love this new one if he’d make me a cheesy family sticker for the back. Methinks he’s nailed it:
(If you don’t know what these little boxes are, I recommend Sarah Bessey’s “Beginner’s Guide to Doctor Who.” And for a taste of the Doctor and a few laughs, check out “Everything I Know About Parenting I Learned from Doctor Who.”)
So I’m rocking a new (used) van with manual doors, because honestly, what would I have to tweet about if my doors opened on their own?!?
Now, about the newest member of our unexpected family. A few days ago, my veterinarian dad called me and did this:
Dad: Hey, Melanie, how are you? How are you feeling? Hey, are you ready for a new dog?
Me: Um, wow, you just slipped that in there, didn’t you?
I was just thinking we needed one, after Instagramming this pic of the floor underneath Evie’s seat at the table:
We could eat a whole ‘nother meal from under there.
So clearly, we need a new dog, if only to help us in our lack of Roomba. And when Dad told me the story of how this dog ended up at the clinic, I melted. Someone found him next to a dumpster with his legs bound together and metal wire wrapped around his mouth, like a piece of trash thrown away to die. I just…well. You guys. We just had to have him and give him fluffy things and yummy food and stroke his sweet fur like he deserves.
I’m a total softie when it comes to dogs, so Alex was the real one to convince. I figured we’d have our work cut out, but we’d prevail in the end. He agreed to visit the clinic to meet the dog, so we piled into our new van and set forth. When we got there, they brought out the dog, who knew just how to handle this situation. He padded straight over to Alex and climbed into his lap.
Game over. Alex was toast.
Just for good measure, the kids piped up, and it was like they planned it.
Ana: He feels like our dog.
Evie: We don’t have a dog.
Elliott: Our dog died.
The dog wrapped his arm around Alex and cast woeful eyes up at him.
Cue Sarah McLachlan.
Well played.
After it was settled, the question of his name came up, and the kids were super helpful.
Ana: Let’s name him Jesus.
Me: I can’t yell for Jesus to get out of the yard. “Jesus! Stop eating poop!” See? That just won’t work.
Ana: Michael Jackson?
Alex: You’re not allowed to help anymore.
Alex named him JPEG, which is perfect for a graphic design/web guy and his bloggy wife. My husband, who used to claim not to like or understand the point of dogs, has spent the weekend doing this:
And this:
Our newest member of the family seems as happy to be here as we are to have him. Having a new dog is bringing up all my feelings about losing Spike, but even through the bittersweet tears, I know my best friend would be glad we have a dog around to take care of us again.
