So, get this. Our lovely dog drew blood on Brendan last night (after also nipping at the little neighbor boy). It looks like we're going to have to return him. Brendan is energetic, for sure, but he's not mean. He wasn't hurting the dog in any way. He just picked it up and ... got a set of teeth in his hand. The doc on call said that he should be seen and Urgent Care was already closed so she "highly, highly recommended" that we go to the ER. Well, I had Gabby and JP and couldn't get ahold of Becca so it was 9:30 before we were able to set out. I wanted to wait until morning, but Mark said, no. He didn't want to take any chances. So off we went. Signed off on a $100 dollar copay only to have the doctor tell us that it was fine, that we should, of course, have it reevaluated if it started oozing pus or something but that for now he recommended soap and water and maybe neosporin. So ... back home we went, to pick up Alex at Becca's and Kayte at a friend's Sweet Sixteen party. By 11:30, we were all in bed.
I got up this morning hoping that maybe, just MAYBE yesterday was a fluke and our sweet little dog would be back. Um, no. He didn't bite (thank goodness) but he growled his definitive displeasure at Brendan the moment he started playing with him. I don't blame the dog. Apparently being raised with one 7-year-old girl is NOTHING like living with my boys (and their multitudes of neighbor friends and their cousins and ...) But if we are going to have a dog, we have to have one that can handle that kind of busy, bouncy lifestyle with kids, kids, kids everywhere. It's so discouraging. I'm finding myself debating whether I should give up this quest for a dog and get a pair of hamsters or something. Although ... can you imagine my boys with hamsters? Sigh ...
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