Last week I stopped by Adam's house largely because of the celestial being who lives there.

I'm not talking about Teddy, who is still to this day one of the cutest animals that God or whoever is in charge of cute animals has deigned to allow on this Earth.

Did I tell you guys about how when I met Teddy and he was only a few weeks old that I fell to the floor and legit cried as he licked my face and peed on me?

That's not hyperbole. That's not exaggeration. I didn't make that up.

An actual REAL tear rolled down the side of my face and fell onto the ground.

I was smiling so hard that the next day I had to get reconstructive surgery in places on my body that I didn't even know existed. IN CHINA.

You can even ask Adam about the tear. He saw the whole thing. He slowly backed up to the door when it happened. Teddy and I have been pals ever since.

But more recently, Matt texted me a picture of another animal and said that someone needed to go rescue him so he could belong to the collective "us." I was at least slightly tempted but then I remembered that training a brand new puppy is absolute misery and I wasn't about to begin that process all over again now that I have finally sort of started to get my life back.

I realized the other day that 2017 is the year I stopped caring how I dress or what I look like. I'm not kidding about this. I got Duncan at the beginning of the year and for the next few months I was getting up with a not-yet-potty-trained puppy at all hours of the night, locking both of us in the kitchen during the day so he didn't have access to carpet, taking him on so many walks every day that there's a path worn on the concrete sidewalk in front of my house, and otherwise shutting myself away like a hermit because I felt bad leaving the house and seeing his big round sad eyes scream at me "I THOUGHT WE WERE A FAMILY."

And in all of that fatigue and dog pee and poop and guilt, I gained a bunch of weight and started dressing like a cat lady. As I thought about this the other day I realized that I totally get why they look the way they do. Why put on a nice dress if I know I'm just going to have to take the dog for a walk in the mud in 20 minutes? NOT THAT I WEAR DRESSES.


The point is, there was no way in Hell NOT THAT WE KNOW WHAT HELL IS that I was about to start that process anew, considering that Duncan is now in a place where I can leave him out in the house while I'm away, he doesn't chew anything, and he has even started sleeping through the night praise all the Jesuses. ALL of them.

So I passed. But fortunately Adam heard the holy call, and probably partly because puppy training Teddy is just barely enough of a distant memory for him, he up and adopted Mr. Renley Rufferford.

Renley is a magical creature. Like, I actually think he may be the result of immaculate conception. Every time I see him he grants me three wishes. And I immediately use all of them to wish that he will never die.

I love him with a hot and fiery passion that I previously did not know was possible.

He is pure and utter joy, all the time. He has this look in his eyes that tells anyone who glances at him, "you're just fine the way you are. Now let me lick your face."

NOTHING can get this dog down. Recently Adam caught Renley and Teddy digging in the yard so he scolded them and then took a picture of their reactions.

Will you guys look at that dog? He is ridiculous!

Adam walked into a room one day and found him on this table!


There is no reason for any human in this world to be sad as long as that animal exists.

I mean, look how happy he is eating dirt!

And one time he fell asleep like this!

And do you remember this picture?!

The point is, I went to Adam's house last week largely because of Renley.
When I went to leave, I insisted that all the dogs come with me and Adam agreed because he had to go to work. So I gathered Teddy and Renley with me in the car.
Adam had told me that Renley has a car-sickness problem and so needed to ride in the back in a cage unless I liked being covered in vomit.
"Renley has a car-sickness problem" is the greatest understatement I've heard since "your metabolism slows down in your 30s."
The second I put the car into drive it was vomit city. Vomit coming out of every hole on that puppy's body. Vomit from his ears. Vomit from his eyes. Vomit oozing from every pore.
There was so much vomit in the car that by the time I got home the vehicle was technically considered a crime scene.
I couldn't really do anything about it, partly because I was driving, but also because I was dealing with a bit of a territorial issue in the front seat.

One that the black dog refused to concede, even after the car ride was over and everyone else went inside.

I'm feeling a little guilty about how much I just talked about Renley so maybe hurry and look at my baby for just a quick second.

Ok. The point is, Mr. Renley Rufferford has an Achilles heel and it's kind of a relief to find out about it because it decreases the chances that he's an advanced alien creature who has come to Earth to find out how to destroy us.
Also, you should go follow him on Instagram. (BTW, we were told initially that he's a cavoodle, like Ollie and Duncan, but he has not grown at all and is still like negative eleventy pounds so we think he may actually be a maltipoo. Or a new breed of dog that did not previously exist.)
~It Just Gets Stranger