As a reminder, I am looking for Amazon reviews for my book, Seven Dogs.  I really think you will like the book.

Well, as I promised in the book, there would be a next chapter, and that chapter has officially started.  Last year we attempted a breeding between Lottie and Magnus’s frozen swimmers.  The one gestated pup, sadly, died in utero.  Being impatient and somewhat practical, I decided to acquire one of Lottie’s pups from this latest litter.  The new female puppy’s name is Courage (pictured above).  Now, before you think it’s cute to mention Courage the Cowardly Dog, I should say that I like this name and I’m very sensitive.  So, be nice.

There will be lots of Courageous stories in the future, but for now I think I will confess what happened on her journey home.  The breeder lives about an hour drive from my house, which is closer than the airport where I have picked up my pups historically.  Given that I have done this many times, I was confident that I knew what I was doing.  Ah yes, confidence, beliefs too often built on sand.

Courage’s breeder suggested that I drive for a block or two, then pull over and let the pup eliminate then and there. This would make the drive home sanitary and dry.  Unfortunately, I set Courage into the back of the cab of my truck, where she nestled into the clean and fluffy comforter and went straight to sleep.  Perfect, I thought in the moment; a long nap later and she will be home.  For the record, the first half of this journey is typically uneventful freeway driving.  The latter half requires that I climb over a mountain pass before descending into the little mountain valley I call home.

Courage slept just fine over the freeway section of the drive, but arose with a such a clatter just as I was heading up the narrow mountain pass to its summit.  I heard noises in the cab behind me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the road to turn around and see what was happening.  I really didn’t need to.  The mixture of aromas filled the truck cab.  She managed a full triple play: barf, poop, and pee.  She then walked around in it, stood up to put her soiled paws on my shoulder, then began to scream at full volume in my ear.  There was no efficient place to pull over, so I soldiered on and held my breath until I pulled into my driveway some twenty minutes later.

Welcome home little girl.