Little Phoebe.

I went to look at an adult miniature pinscher yesterday and instead came home with an eight week old pinny poo.

Before I left I asked Joey if he trusted my judgement and he said yes, then rolled over and went back to sleep. I wonder if he is regretting that now, home with the new little puppy and Ethan.

She cuddled on our laps all evening, snuggling up into our necks or burring her nose into any little crease she could get into. She slept curled in my armpit all night (I was half awake all night, not wanting to get into a deep sleep and then crush the pitiful thing) and she hasn't had one real accident in the house since four o'clock yesterday afternoon. She's perfect. Compared to Truman, she is a dream.

And she might be even cuter. She's definitely smaller, probably only about three or four pounds. She looks like the tiniest black lab you ever saw. I'll get a picture of her up as soon as I can. I swear you won't believe how tiny she is.

I have, after a very long and debated search, decided to name her Phoebe (FEE-BE) which means shining. She doesn't really shine, but she makes me happy, and somehow that relates to sun-shining, so it works, even though she is black as night. Her dark, thumb-tack size eyes are like deep pools of shaded water.
I am so happy to have her but there is a part of me that is keeping a little bit of distance, an unconscious fear that somehow I will lose her. I have to remind myself that I can hold her and cuddle her as much as I want to, that it is good for her, good for me.
She is a dream, a fat little, piggy looking dream.