We brought him home today. He was manic for an hour and I thought we'd made a huge mistake, but he calmed down and he's sleeping in his crate in the bedroom right now. I'm downstairs typing this because I don't want to wake anyone.

He's adorable. He's afraid of his own reflection in the oven door; he walked into the sliding glass door and the glass around the gas fireplace, but to his credit he only did both of those moves once each. When I go upstairs to pee, he runs downstairs to the front door. He responds to "anh-anh" when he eyes the couch, he's starting to associate treats with good deeds, and I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing yet. And we also decided on a name, a name I was kicking around today but finally tried out on Brenda just tonight: Primo. Brenda loved it and we started trying it out on our new smelly houseguest.

Primo. First. Emma came first in our lives, but Primo is our first dog, our first boy. And he farts. I love him.


(as good a name as Primo is, this dog is Hooper; read on...)