What does the Fawkes say?

I got a puppy yesterday. God help me. 

Fawkes is an Australian Shepherd. Currently he weighs in at about twelve pounds, and is nine weeks old. He has been here for less than 24 hours, and he already knows how to open the box that holds his bag of food.

This is going to be very different from Mr Darcy, my geriatric pug dog who couldn’t even figure out that he could get through a sideways ladder when I used it to block him into the dining room.

Fawkes is an early Christmas present from my parents, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Mr Darcy was my college graduation present, so clearly there’s a theme here: my parents are officially the best present-gifters in the world.

Everyone was on board with the decision to get me a new dog. Dogs hold a special role in my life: as someone who never stops moving/thinking/talking/doing, my dog is my sidekick. And my confidante. And my motivation. And my familiar. We opted for an Aussie because I wanted the experience of a companion who was smart enough to take on trips, because he probably wouldn’t spend twenty minutes barking at a shoebox.

Fawkes and I are going to see Europe. I don’t know when that’ll happen, but it’s in the plans. Other people may tag along, but either way, I’ve got Fawkes. This makes me braver than usual. I can’t explain it; you’d have to live in my head to understand.

This is also a tool for stopping me from going nuts, as I currently work from home and, when left without someone/thing to play with, I go a little stir-crazy. Okay, that’s an understatement: I’m one step short of Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

Fawkes spent his first night here having nightmares and mewling like a kitten. I must reiterate my previous statement that people who make babies are insane: I had to take him out twice in the night, and that was annoying enough without having to also, say, allow some creature to suck on my boob. More power to you, though, breeding couples: without you, I’d have no humans to talk to—and occasionally I do like human contact.

Mr Darcy is still missed everyday. I don’t think that’ll ever stop, because Darcy wasn’t a dog so much as a weird little old man who chose to reside with me. Fawkes isn’t here to replace Darcy, which would be impossible…but he’s going to be a great new friend.

More about Fawkes when I’ve had some real sleep. Right now, just enjoy the photos.