At least he isn’t a Saint Bernard

When we got our dog, Stitch, he was mostly intended to be The Kidd's dog. Somehow that didn't really work out right - I think he's decided he is mostly my dog. He follows me around when I'm home, lies on my feet half the time if I'm sitting still, and sleeps on the floor by my side of the bed for most of the night.

I didn't intend to care about him as much as I do. I had lost my 14 year old Aussie mix, Marc, the year before we got Stitch and then lost my 10 year old cat Newton to kidney failure a year after Stitch joined the family. I wanted another family pet, but did not want to bond that much with another animal for a while. It just about killed me to lose Marc and Newton (who slept on my pillow every night - I still wake up sometimes expecting him to be there) and I didn't want to risk going through that again.

We chose Stitch because Aussies are highly intelligent and very active. We thought he'd be a perfect addition to the family since our Sheltie, Kelly, is very dainty and not very playful. We thought The Kidd would enjoy having a more rough-and-tumble type pet. The Kidd does love Stitch, and Stitch does love The Kidd, but they aren't as inseparable as I expected them to be. When Stitch was still a puppy he seemed to like all of us humans equally. I think Kelly was the family member he loved the most.

Now that he's grown, Stitch seems to like me the most. Which has proved to be a problem for the whole "keeping my distance" thing I had planned to do. I don't think anyone could look at that fuzzy face and puppy dog eyes and not fall in love.

Lately I've discovered a problem. If I am talking, and start to sound upset, it apparently worries Stitch. I've been talking about the Adventurers Club (and how angry I am at Disney) often recently and Stitch doesn't like it one bit. I guess he thinks it's his job to cheer me up, because the second I start to sound upset he immediately climbs on to my lap and tries to lick my face. He weighs 50 pounds! It does usually make me laugh, though, so I guess it works. I've started trying to sound cheerful when I talk about things that make me sad just so I don't end up getting trampled. I think I just end up sounding crazed, though, and Stitch keeps looking at me suspiciously so I think he's starting to figure it out.

I guess I should just be glad that we didn't choose the other breed that I had strongly considered . . . an Irish Wolfhound.