When we first mentioned the idea of, yet another, little addition to our family, the over-riding response was, "you're crazy". And, though I couldn't really argue, I could show a picture of our little Fannie May, and you might no longer blame us for the moment of insanity.
Ever since the loss of Tali, there has been a 75 pound void in our home. Things were quieter, there was one less mouth to feed, Tater slept alone. We probably should have welcomed the prospect of less chaos. But it just wasn't right. Life felt out of balance. Crumbs were piling up too quickly. So when this litter of Great Dane/Coonhound mix puppies surfaced, I could not resist. They fit every bit of criteria I had made up in my head. Short hair. Big. Laid back. Puppy. Rescue. Trainable. We visited the litter, and Fannie (then "Allegience") immediately went up to Curtis and began licking his face. Licking, being the operative word, not biting. She then went on to play with Matt, Brock and I as well, ignoring her puppy siblings. The other little girls seemed completely uninterested. We took her home that night, without question, she was our girl.
After one night of looking and behaving lost, Fannie May quickly adjusted to our home. The potty training is progressing incredibly. And after a week of contemplation and observation, she finally has a name. I think. Brock still randomly calls her Puddles, which was a name that came up due to a misunderstanding over the phone. She loves to play with the boys, and Tater is slowly becoming accustomed to her presence. Only time will tell how big she will truly get, but with a 90lb (severely underweight mom) and an 85lb dad I think it is safe to assume she won't be little. I just hope her cuddly, sweet disposition stays. Because I have really fallen in love.