– My car, living room, bedroom, bathroom, purse and backpack are inexplicable littered with puppy toys, treats, unused poopy bags, and other random assorted accessories. Sometimes I reach into my bag for my wallet and pull out a teeny tiny tennis ball.
– I structure my entire day around her tiny puppy bladder.
– Mindy is afraid of, and subsequently barks at, the following: women, men in hats, people outside, people inside, rustling leaves, her own tail, and doors. I frequently find myself yelling the phrase “Stop being a terrorist, Mindy!”
– On that note, I no longer need my bright pink tazer, because I now have the most protective, ferocious, 10.6 pound guard dog on the planet.
– I put my dog in clothes, which is something I never, ever, ever, ever thought I would do ever. But apparently, clothes have practical value in Alaska, where tiny dogs have tiny legs that freeze immediately when exposed to frigid temperatures (anything under 40 degrees). The worst part is, I kind of love dressing her up. She may or may not own a turtle costume, a bunny costume, and a full panda suit. I regret nothing.
– As a former hater of all things baby-talk, I find myself frequently squealing and cooing stupid things like “who’s the little itty bitty baby puppy? It’s you, Mindy! You’re the itty bitty whittle baby puppy, yes you are!” And then I reflexively vomit.
– Mindy has decided that she likes my belongings, but she prefers them in tasteful shreds, scattered elegantly around every floor surface.
– She enjoys moving my clothing around, so my Clean Laundry Pile and my Dirty Laundry Pile have converged and morphed into one Confusing Laundry Blob. That she sleeps on.
– I’m super happy, and wouldn’t trade my little terrorist for anything.