Everything is a dog.

My daughter’s first word, that isn’t “Mama” or “Dada” (and who doesn’t take a little liberty with those, anyway?) is “dog”.

We have 2 dogs that were our test-run at raising a person. We were actually looking into getting a Great Dane. That fell through, and as if God were saying “Try something a little smaller”, we passed something small, black and fluffy bouncing around on the snow-covered side of the road one morning. We turned around out of curiosity and found 2 dogs. No collars, a little afraid, but friendly. No houses around. Apparantly someone just dumped them there.

We took them home, got them food and water, locked them in the laundry room and went to work. When we came home at the end of the day, there were no puddles, no piles, and nothing chewed. That sure sounds like “Keep Me!” to me.

Kelly (black) and Maryn (brown)

Flash forward a few years and we have two very well behaved, obedient dogs, and one very well behaved, bright, active little girl. She loves to chase the dogs, loves to see if she can eat their dog food without getting caught, and loves to say “dog” whenever she sees them.

And now, everything is a dog.
The kids she sees on tv? Dogs.
Birds singing? Dogs.
Daddy? Dog.

Oh, and did I mention she’s walking now? Across the living room, across the slippery kitchen floor, across my face when I’m laying in bed. She’s no respector of surface. Anything can be walked on. Except, apparantly, dogs.

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