Last week the Captain turned 9 and a new member joined our family. Her name is Cheyenne, she is 5 months old. She is part husky, part something that is really really big.
The Captain has wanted a dog since he found out what dogs were. So for his ninth birthday, I went to the animal rescue with the Entertainer and Princess Lilly, and picked out the only dog that 1. wasn't a pit bull (which I've heard actually make great pets, but Brandon and I hadn't discussed the bread...) 2. wasn't a "senior" (here buddy, this is Fido, the greatest dog ever! He is going to die before you turn 10...) or 3. wasn't barking like a maniac.
So we got Cheyenne, the sweet little "husky" sad and scared and not barking, who turned into wonder dog the big jumper when they brought her out and scooted her home with us.
I waited by the fence until the Captain and the Adventurer and Brandon came home, with another dad and his two daughters. My son, who has begged me for a dog every day for the last 7.5 years, saw me holding her, and he froze. The girls ran up and petted her. The Adventurer petted her, and the Captain just stood there.
"Happy Birthday! This is Cheyenne! She's your birthday present! You can pick a new name if you want... do you want to pet her?"
"Ya, sure mom. Let me just go put my stuff down." And he saunters away. And I am baffled.
He tells me later, "mom, when I saw her, I was so excited! If those girls hadn't been there, I would have screamed like a little girl and ran up and hugged her. I just didn't want to embarrass myself."
And I breath a sigh of relief.
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