Changes, y’all.

You may notice that my little bio there on the upper left no longer says “I wish I had a dog.” That’s because, folks, I now have a dog.

I give you Ira.

Ira, the cricket hunter, the sleeping champion, the scavenger of discarded baked goods.

This little begetter of soft stools has already eaten some size 5 bamboo knitting needles and figured out how to operate the foot pedal on the bathroom trash (spoiler alert, he loves Kleenex). He has also tunneled his way into my heart in a major way. Because, even though he will destroy a squeaky koala just because he doesn’t understand it…

…he also does THIS.

Which, if you’ve never had a tiny, warm doggy curl up and go to sleep on you, you are a little bit dead inside, I’m sorry to say. And that is a clinical fact.

Ira has a problem, though. I’m not going to lie. And no, it isn’t his addiction to soiled cotton balls and old Wendy’s wrappers that he picks up in the street (*barf sound*). Ira’s major issue is that he hates gnomes.

I’m not kidding. I really wish I were. And, since Ira is only 9 months old and just can’t have had much experience with gnomes, unpleasant or otherwise, I can only assume that this is a “factory setting.” Watch in shock, as I did, as Ira reacts to the lawn gnome that resides at my parents’.

He is truly a faulty animal. And now I have to live with him.

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