You may wonder what's happened to me; why have the blog posts dropped off so steeply over the past year?

Yes, I have a new job, as does Axel. Yes, I've gone back to working full time. Yes, Little L has taken up a myriad of sports, all requiring transportation and sitting in the bleachers with an aching back.

But also. The dog.

As I write this, she stands next to me, looking up at me with those literal puppy dog eyes, wanting me to pet her. Then she lets out a little sigh as she settles in front of the heat vent, in the minuscule area by the back door where three people need to get their shoes and winter gear on and off multiple times a day - the spot she has conveniently claimed as hers.

Just a few minutes ago as we returned from a walk, a couple was walking their dog towards us down the street. "We can make it if we hurry," Axel said, and we veered across the front yard in a diagonal to avoid facing them head-on; avoiding others while walking around the neighborhood with an over-exuberant pup often feels like the early days of the pandemic.

"Your dog is so cute!" the guy holding the leash called to us as Meatball sat on the front step, tail wagging, facing their dog and trying to restrain herself. Trying to be good.

We get frequent comments about Meatball's cuteness.

But besides being adorable, she is also a lot to take care of.

"I still can't believe you got a dog!" my mom says, with a mix of enthusiasm, amusement and perhaps pity, each and every time she sees me scooping up dog poop or trying to keep the pup from jumping up on visitors.

I'd like to say we went into this thing with eyes wide open, and in a way we did. We made a list of over 50 questions to consider. My friend and cousin recommended pet insurance, and in case I haven't said it yet, thank you.

A highlight from this past year was going into the emergency vet with my brother David late one night after attending a family friend's party. We were picking up medication for Meatball's latest parasite. My brother made friends with the overnight receptionists by joking about Simpsons episodes as I grumpily requested a receipt so I could submit it to insurance.

Earlier that evening he had gotten in the car just as I was saying on the phone to the vet, "You want me to wipe her?"

Meatball is currently on her fourth food; we're hoping this one sits better with her stomach. We're also praying the summer sun melts out any remaining parasites in the backyard in the coming months.

In the meantime, if you don't hear much from me, you can imagine me, wandering the neighborhood at 6AM —or PM— poop bag in hand.