Meet Miller. And Olivia. These are my fur children for the next six days.
I've been charged with sitting these two little buggers while Tara gallivants to New Orleans to get hitched. And no, I don't think she knows about that one time I lost Newton.
After my first night, I'm proud to say both Miller and Olivia are doing fantastic. And they're both at home, not running away.
I'll tell you that dog-sitting is not hard when you have two puppies, free range of one five-level condo and its roof-top hot tub, one Bill Hall as a next-door neighbor and a flatscreen television with which to watch back-to-back-to-back episodes of Cold Case while Olivia naps in the crook of your bended legs.
Puppies are neat.
Although I'm slowly learning why children might be kind of hard to deal with.
I took the girls for a walk over to a girlfriend's last night because she likes puppies, too. We're all, Whee! Puppies! They can play in the yard! And lick our faces! And won't it be neat?
But attempting to get two bite-sized pooches to walk in a straight line, nonetheless across the river and through the neighborhood, was a task. Miller is insane, and prefers to walk me. And Olivia is dainty and would prefer to eat grass, not walk.
Once I got them to our destination, Miller ransacked the place on a wild hunt for stuffed animals (twice she walked into the dining room with a different animal in her mouth), and Olivia barked. And barked.
Angry, that one.
But they're precious. And I'll do my best to keep them alive happy. Because look at those little faces. Makes me want to speak baby talk. Almost.