PUP-ulation explosion

I'm trying to write a column in the next day or so, but I'm having some distractions. Good ones, mind you. I'm afraid my "Love Notes" column this time is going to be about as disjointed as my daily routine has become of late. I have to admit feeling a bit like George Bergeron in Kurt Vonnegut's famous short story "Harrison Bergeron," where an entire society's thought processes are shackled by the state.

In Mr. Bergeron's case, every time he gets a good thought going, a ball ping hammer slams off in his brain, causing him to utter "Gee, that was a doozy." Well, in my case, the state of the Love family has inflicted puppies on my brain. Three on Monday---lots of doozies, in the form of spilled water bowls, dog logs, wet towels, lost dogs, etc. That all quieted down once two thirds of the doozy operators headed for Boise Monday afternoon.

Yesterday was relatively quiet, though I noticed some deficiencies upstairs in my brain a few times things downstairs got much too quiet. Sometimes it was fresh dog logs on the carpet; sometimes just a sleeping dog lying in wait and dreaming about the next new mommy doozy. Our little Kea had a chance to settle in yesterday. She has her own bed. She now has her own water and Atta-boy bowls--both of which don't tip over.

The little pup has settled in enough, however, to notice all those tempting chewables we leave on the end tables, like TV remotes, newspapers, magazines, CD's. She's also settled in enough to figure out how to get those little puppy legs up onto the couches and grab whatever looks good. So, for my sanity, at this moment, I remain somewhat dooziless. Kea is confined to the laundry room where Bill may have forgotten to pick up the wastebasket full of lint.

My dooziless state will not last long. Soon, the pup population will double. Webster will arrive around 11. Then, Kiwi, Kea and Annie Dog will have another round of adjustments to make. I'm prepared--almost. Webster has a collar. Webster has a leash. An extra lead rope is available in the barn where Webster can remain tied, crying out in protest, in the far box stall with Kea while I shovel those delicious puppy gourmet favorites: horse apples, from the other two stalls.

And, from the time of Webster's arrival until his departure in a couple of weeks and while all other Lovestead canines make their adjustments and establish their pecking---oops, maybe I should say pooping and peeing order----my brain will cease to focus on any subject for more than four seconds. Add those doozies to a CRS (Can't Remember Shit) brain, and I'm in for some mental challenges ahead. I think I'll remember "shit," though, with this experience.

If I can get my writing assignments completed, however, I'm looking forward to some wonderful moments with all the young critters. I just hope I do better than George Bergeron and remember all the precious sights, sounds and pure joy associated with new puppy pals at the Lovestead.