We sent the puppy away to live out his last "free" weekend with my parents. They will probably be gorging him senseless, and bring home a dog we no longer recognize, a dog who more resembles a bowling ball than a Snausage, which is totally the look we've been after.
Actually, we are way more into his physical health than we are into our own, and our beloved pup has grown himself to be quite the fashionably slim teenager, and I'm very proud of that. You could bounce a quarter off his ass, people. You can feel it when he lays his seventy-pound head on your face when you're trying to breathe, and reach around to extract him. I dare you not to say, "Wow, that ass is TIGHT!" while you do it. You might just think it. That's OK.
I know that some of you are curious, and so I inform you: I am doing alright with the non-smoking thing. I have taken up The Patch (or at least the Kmart equivalent to it) and it's going quite well. I feel like it's a loser's way out, sometimes, but I don't let that get to me (too much). The fact of the matter is that I know I need help in quitting, and there is statistical evidence that I quit better with help than without. (See all the years of trying to quit and failing immediately without help vs. the almost successful quitting with the patch.)
I totally miss my little man. I asked my dad to take him with him up north before I went to work this afternoon, and yet I was still shocked and very very sad not to have him greet me at the door when I got home. Still, I hope he enjoys it.
Because after next week he will no longer be consulting his balls in major decisions. This is like his bachelor party.