His name is Ezra and he is eight years old. He is technically my husband's dog, but he is my baby. Poor thing, two kids later he has dropped considerably in the pecking order but he doesn't seem to mind. He loves these boys and I know if he had to he would throw himself in front of a bus to save them. I get aggravated when he tracks mud in the house or wipes his face on the furniture, but I still love him. He is about sixty in dog years and still lets the kids crawl on him and attempt to ride him and is happy to do so. He is very protective of us. He barks at anyone who attempts to enter our yard and I remember when Jacob was a wee baby we would walk him in the stroller with Ez by our side and he would strut out front and get between the stroller and anyone passing by. He didn't like strangers to stop and look at the baby. That was the only time I have ever really seen him appear menacing and even then if the gawker would stop and pet him his tail would wag. When both kids were starting to climb the stairs and not quite steady at it, he would always tell on them if they snuck over there by barking until I came. He just really is a good dog.
See what a sweet dog he is? These boys are so lucky to have him!
All my life I thought I'd be the perfect mother. I even majored in it. I aced all the child development classes I took toward my degree in, wait for it, Early Childhood Development and Elementary Education.
And then they were born. First Jacob, who is 8, then Adam, who is 4, and our biggest surprise, Elizabeth who is 2.
As much as I really wanted to be, I am finding out I am no June Cleaver. For starters, The Beav never had a baby sister.