I have had a not-quite-5-month-old girl puppy foster for about two weeks now. In an interesting twist, I called Megan this week with a bit of role reversal:

Me: Hey, what're you doin'?

Megan: Not much. Beating my dog [refer to previous post for the literal meaning of this phrase]. What's up?

Me: Ummm, ya know it's been 10 years since I've had a puppy. This one is driving me crazy.

Megan: Don't look at me. It's all your fault, you know.

Me: Yeah, yeah. I know. Hey, does your dog smell your burps?

Megan: LAUGHTER

Me: I mean, I don't do that very often, but I had a coke and this big ol' burp came out. Sweet Pea was sitting on my lap and her head whipped around and she sniffed the air that just expelled from my innards. Does your dog do that?

Megan: [Still laughing] Yeah, but she smells her own, too.

Me: Well, I guess I'm glad it's not just me. [Sigh] I can't believe how much energy this one has. She's merciless when she wants to play and she's driving my two nuts.

Megan: [Laughter has subsided into snickers now] It's payback.

Me: Whatever.

I think Megan is enjoying my "puppy re-discovery" far too much.

Sweet Pea will go to her new permanent home in January [after she's spayed and recovered]. Stevie, however, remains Queen of Megan's apartment, something that's not likely to change any time soon.

Cheers!

G