And Then There Were Eight…

The whole family (minus Maddie, our Cocker Spaniel, who stayed at home, blissfully unaware of the eighty pounds of love we were bringing home to her.)

On Saturday, after much discussion, prayer, and kid-begging, we adopted a Greyhound. By looking at this picture, you would guess I was ECSTATIC, SO EXCITED, M was his normal cool self, and the kids were indifferent (with the exception of Catie, who seems to have inherited her mother’s cheesy grin for pictures).
Actually, this summary wouldn’t be too far from the truth.
After all the office visits, interviews, and home visit, the kids were not ready to believe today was actually the day we would take our very own dog home with us. What you see on my face is the excitement we’re actually done answering questions like, “Would you EVER let our Greyhound off his leash?” or “Would you EVER feed him anything except minced unicorn meat?” (Sorry about the sarcasm; the application process may have worn me down.)
So, we named him Emmanuel because “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” is the kids’ favorite Christmas hymn. And, since he can run 45 mph, this seemed like an appropriate theme song for his life. I should mention an appropriate theme song for our kids is “I Leave the Door Open!”
We call him Manny for short because long Biblical names with short nicknames are my love language. To teach him his name, all four kids simultaneously  run around the house screaming, “MANNY!” Soon he’s bound to learn that’s what we call him OR believe this noise is the innate sound of little humans.
He’s fitting into our lives beautifully in every way. For example, M took him on a run last night. Manny was thrilled to go, ran enthusiastically for half a mile, then began walking and patting. When M brought him back, he collapsed onto the couch for a solid two-hour nap. Which is EXACTLY how it goes when I attempt running with M.
To be fair, he is a retired racer–and it seems like racing was never his thing. As CrazyHank, he ran in 44 races and only won a single race. Apparently there’s a Simpson’s plot about this? M keeps chortling about the family’s Greyhound who got kicked out of the racetrack because he was too slow. The story lines of Santa’s Little Helper must fall into the category of  “have see it to get the joke” because, really, the whole plot sounds like our lives. It could be true lots of family life resembles a Simpson’s episode, though.
So, happy Christmas Eve to your family. We’re off to introduce Manny to the neighbors–bearing extra tasty treats for those neighbors with small, white dogs that look a little too much like rabbits.