Why'd you have to be so cute?

One year ago today the world welcomed Mustang. I don't think I've ever mentioned him on our blog before, which is strange, because he's such a huge part of our lives, but I just have to take a moment to marvel at the wonder that is our golden retriever.

Eric grew up with a golden retriever named Chip (how cute is that?), so when we decided to get a dog for Christmas last year, nothing would do but a golden. I knew there would be fur all over us, the house, and everything we owned, but I thought that would be balanced out by the fact that the dog would lick up all the edible debris on the floor, of which we generally have a lot. Somehow, we ended up with the world's only anorexic dog. He does not lick up crumbs. He sniffs them and walks away. He often takes an entire day to finish one bowl of dog food (and no, we're not over-feeding him).

Eric brought him home on Christmas Eve, after the boys were asleep, and we hid him in our room all night, bringing him out after all the other presents had been opened. I must say that most of my excitement up until that point had centered around seeing the looks on their faces when I carried him into the living room with a big red bow around his neck. That and not having any more crumbs on my floor....sigh. But basically, I thought I would tolerate a dog for the sake of my children's emotional and psychological development. So I was floored by the love I felt for him almost immediately. Is it bad to say that I never felt that way with the boys when they were born? I think I was so overwhelmed by the immense responsibilities and life changes that accompany an actual child's birth, that I was unable to just enjoy their cuteness and smallness and snuggliness. That and the fact that I felt like I'd just been hit by a bus.

But after we got Mustang, I was almost euphoric- he was so cute and soft and just plain adorable, and his life did not revolve around sucking on me! I got to hold him and play with him and cuddle with him, and not once did I ever have to wake up in the middle of the night. Yes, he peed all over the floor. Yes, he went through a stage where he would try to pee on my foot (and no, I don't want to know what that means he thinks of me). Yes, he's eaten toy cars, bottle caps, small stuffed animals, a cereal bowl and my favorite flip-flops. But I can honestly say that I would not trade him for anything. As I write this, he's lying on his back at my feet, hind legs spread wide to the world- loyal and trusting and comical, even in his sleep. I hope I get to end every day for the next fourteen years chuckling at his random sleeping positions and petting his soft head goodnight.