Confessions of a First Time Foster

Jackson’s showing me a lot of Happy Butt lately, and it’s getting on my nerves.

I don’t mean that basic signal of puppy happiness. Can’t get enough of that.

I mean the Happy Butt that I see trotting quickly down the hallway when Jackson’s once again snatched something he shouldn’t have. The Happy Butt with the tail held extra high and the extra spring in the step. The Happy Butt that means I have to stop what I’m doing, clamber over Brother and Sister and engage in hot pursuit before the prize is swallowed or ruined.

Yes, just like human kids, puppies go through that “Mine!” phase, and Jackson’s case is in full swing. The origin of some of the prizes is easy. My right shoe came from the floor. The banana peel came from the trash. But how the heck did he get the CD with my PDA drivers, that pair of panties, or my Ove Glove? The bedroom and kitchen doors are closed, and the software is in boxes on a high shelf.

The only explanation: There’s a puppy Stargate that I don’t know about.