When I took Peewee to the vet last Saturday for his shots we discovered that in one month he's gained nine pounds.

Imagine being pregnant and having your baby grow to full-term size in thirty days. Peewee is no longer a bulldog that resembles a pug, he now looks like a bulldog who's just eaten a pug. (His name was Truman and he was delicious.)

Part of the reason we got Peewee was because Cookie was so emotionally needy. Her muscles were constantly set on Twitch. If I took a step toward the door she'd fly to the top of the stairs and crouch there, ready to fling herself out the door for WHEREVER YOU'RE GOING, IS IT A WALK? A RIDE IN THE CAR?? A TRIP TO THE DUMPSTER??? OMFG ARLREIOV ROJATJ OERJG!!!!!

Peewee, on the other hand, couldn't care less if you stayed, went, or set your socks on fire.

Between games of tug and chase and butt-sniffing and naps in the sun, having another dog around has done just what I'd hoped it would, it's made Cookie quit focusing on her own little OCD tendencies (anxiety chewing, anxiety licking, anxiety barfing) and given her a role in Pack Kennedy other than Emo Girl. I admit, I helped to make her that way. When Katie the Bulldog died and Cookie the Bulldog arrived to heal our broken hearts, I think I overdid it with the bonding and the hugging and the woodja-woodja-woo. To the extent that Cookie probably felt like the fourth human around here. And in the last six months she'd developed some habits -- getting growly with strangers, barking at me, being a brat on the leash. Spoiled dog maneuvers that I was desperately, embarrassedly working to train out of her.