Welcome, Princess Caitlin Huggadoo!
You can call her Katie. She's a three-and-a-half-month-old English bulldog and boy can she fart. She can clear a room. I took her to Jackson's school this morning and a dozen excited preschoolers were crowding around trying to all pet her at once and Katie let one rip and the entire school ran away screaming. The actual building pulled itself off its foundation and scooted into the next lot, trying not to breathe. Fortunately, I have a cold so I was able to withstand the olfactory onslaught.
I'm pretty sure she's smarter than me. I was feeling guilty for not playing with her enough yesterday (my boss lets me take her into the office) so I picked up an empty water bottle that she'd been using for a toy and started with the high-pitched you wanna play, girl? YOU WANNA PLAY? noises, and she just gave me this long, steady look that said, "No need to drag me into your codependent human insecurities. And by the way, I have an I.Q. of 204." Then, as the sun from the skylight was finally hitting her dog bed, she curled up and took another nap.