hi ya'll. I'm currently writing a new post on another recipe I know
say hello to Poppy Thunderpaws Pan. Yes, she's taken on Pan's last name. That's how we know she's one of us. We love her to bits, but she's a freakin' handful and then some!
It's been close to impossible trying to write my post on the Mrs Lee Spaghetti, because I write some, then run after her to make sure she pees in the right spot, then come back to finish my thought, then run after her to stop her from chewing the table leg off.. and then when she's done aggravating me to my core and goes off for a nap, I come back to my post only to discover to my horror.. what the heck happened here? why am i writing in two voices? Why do i sound so snarky, then stupid, then downright like.. Martha Steward? (no offense, Pan just bought me a year's subscription of her magazine).
But I love my Poppy Pan. She's a doll who wants to please. She's my baby who goes into her crate to nap (when the doggy bed is being washed), she's my baby who wouldn't finish her food unless it's delicately soaked in water.. She's a beautiful BLUE, for heaven's sake! And have you seen her eyes? I need a close-up of her eyes. They are the lightest, bluest blue eyes. Who ever thought I'd have a blue-eyed baby? Genetics be damned. I bought my sexy baby.
So to all of you with a bun in the oven/a pet in a crate/a boyfriend on the bench/a mistress on the side.. congratulations, honey. You've just earned yourself a quiet, rewarding bundle of crazy.
Edit: FINE! PICTURES!
Poppy's first night home. Yes we lavished her immediately with presents and toys galore. Lucky girl.
My beautiful baby hanging out in her crate. She loved her crate! Made it so much easier for us to crate train her whew!
"Did I hear you call me sexy? I'm too young for that shit!"
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