It's MILLER Time....

Good news... We're expecting!!
Take a deep breath. There's more to the story. 
Obviously most of you know that my eggs nearly qualify for AARP and any swimming going on isn't being done with any kind of distance or strength at all so you can deduct that we're NOT having a baby - at least of the human kind. Plus, I'd kinda be in a little trouble since Kirk had that special man surgery a bout a dozen years ago.

Just when things have slowed down at the corner of We're Almost There Boulevard and Easy Street we have decided to shake them up. The girls are in college, Kyle's made the big move to the high school and we're within three years of the finish line (i.e. empty nest) and now we've decided we're due for something exciting to happen (other than planning that wedding in December of course).

I suggested the adoption of an infant, just one more chance to do everything right since we kinds, sorta, might have messed up the other three kids we'd had - but hubba bubba didn't even let me get to the part about how cute all the new baby stuff is since our kids were little and how I still have some great baby names I never got to use before he shut that light bulb off with a quick flick of the switch.
He did...however...announce that he'd been batting around an idea of his own.
With three kids in youth hockey all those years and the number of winter nights we spent at home in our own beds in the single digits, the time had never been quite right to do it before.
He thought that now the timing was perfect and that...even though it wasn't quite the same as another baby we'd still get to hear the pitter patter of little feet, get to potty train it, teach it to speak and sit up all night with it.

It was, he declared, the perfect time to acquire a puppy.

"But wait!" I said, "What about all these cats???!!!" My husband has long held the opinion that as the kids leave I replace them with kittens and there is actually some truth to that. I haven't yet spoken to a counselor but there does seem to be some correlation. Besides, cat No. 1 is 16 years old and I thought it was getting close to the end so it seemed like a good idea to replace one old cat with the antics of two kittens. But that was two years ago and still today, the old cat lives on. How was I to know?

But back to the pup.  It's a springer spaniel and the kennel owners declare it already has 'great hunting instinct'.  Which is a big plus. My boys wanted a hunting dog. They also said it has 'high energy' and 'a real curious nature'. Translation:  hyper, crazy, barking lunatic???
We'll see.
We've met him briefly, making the three hour round trip expedition to take a little more of a look see than the photo on the Internet could offer. We had our choice of two. The other cried and whimpered our entire visit and this little guy came over to us,  nuzzled us in the neck one at a time and licked our cheeks all the while pleading with his eyes, "I'm cute, right? Take me home. I promise you will love me."

Kyle has already named him Miller. Interestingly enough NOT after the beer - which is what most of our friends will think - but after the hockey goalie Ryan Miller.

The black and white pup to be named Miller-but-not-after-the-beer, will be ours on Saturday. Tonight after church the boys and I scooped up some needed supplies for his much anticipated arrival. Instead of teething rings, bibs and pacifiers I took collars, leashes, chew toys and kibbles to the check-out ... as well as DVDs of both Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows. (Sometimes I can't help myself!!)  

The girls say we are mean. That we deprived them of the love of a dog their entire lives and now, now, we decide to get one.  The cruelty. We assured them they will have liberal visitation and have been designated official dog-sitters.

This is actually not our first dog. Back in BC (before children) we had another dog. She was a light brown lab and possibly six or seven other things and we called her Libby after a town in Minnesota where we stopped to let her go potty the day we got her.  Each night when my hubby came home from work she was so excited to see him that she immediately peed at the front door. Every. Single. Night. 

Our fondest Libby memory of all is the time my husband rushed me to the emergency room, eight months pregnant, in the middle of the night. We had woke up lying in a large wet spot on the bed. We sped to the ER declaring my water had broke and birth was surely eminent only to find out the wet spot in our bed wasn't amniotic fluid at all - but dog urine.
Libby the pee-er was hit by a car near my parent's cabin one weekend and it has taken 21 years to think of giving dog ownership another shot. 

But I think we're ready. The question is...Is Miller-not-after-the-beer ready for us? 
I'll keep you posted.