My Hot Dog has a first name…

It’s O-S-C-A-R.

(heh, do I have that song in your head now? )

Yes, I’m weak. I let T talk me into it.

I’d like you to meet…

Oscar the Rauch

It’s funny… T and I named our future dog, whoever he was going to be, ages and ages ago. We didn’t know he was going to be a weiner dog (He’s a dachshund). T wanted a Jack Russell (I vetoed that one. Way too much energy for me), but when we met Oscar, we fell in love with him. And now we have an Oscar Meyer Weiner Dog.

(No, for those who are wondering, I also vetoed the pet store. We adopted Oscar from a nice family).

He’s been with us a week and a half and already things are a little upside down in the house. But I won’t bore you with all the stories of turf training (or, Oscar! don’t pee in your bed!), or the Hey! I don’t want to go in this dark crate by myself, I want to sleep on top of T.

Because it’s all worth it when you have this tiny little dog with these giant Dumbo ears running at you for a pounce break or a lick-fest.

And who knows, we might even get him over his fear of outside so he actually will help me get my butt away from the computer. *grin*

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