Well, if there’s one thing we can always count on, it’s change, right? Of course I don’t mean the kind of change that jingles in your pocket. I mean the “things don’t stay the same” kind — the don’t blink or you’ll miss it kind.
Tomorrow marks the third (only the third) week since the puppies came home with me. They have since opened their eyes, found their tiny voices, begun to cut teeth and started walking or, more accurately, staggering like rummies. Alfa, the biggest pup upon arrival, is now the smallest at one pound, one ounce. Bravo weighs a pound and four ounces and baby sister, Charlie, registers one pound, three ounces according to the scale this morning. They have begun to play a bit after feedings, awkwardly tumbling over one another and mouthing each other’s ears and snouts. Alfa vocalizes with a bird-like growl and yip when vexed, while Bravo is a quiet soul. Charlie seems to have the best motor control at this point, though all the pups look a bit like Bambi on ice when they stumble off the piddle pad onto the polished wood floor.
Time has offered other rewards, as well. I am down to only one extra load of laundry per day, as the babies move from true infancy, no longer soiling their bedding at what seemed like five minute intervals. If I feed the littles around midnight, I get to sleep until four, which is only an hour and a half before the first alarms start to sound for the rest of the house. Baby steps, people, baby steps.