The One In Which I Adopt A Greyhound

We did it. We actually did it. We adopted a dog.

The process was quite hard - I’ll spare you of all the boring details. The long and short of it is, we adopted a greyhound (so a big, big, big thanks to notSupermum - I’d never have been able to do it without your help - I wouldn’t know where to start) and called him Jasper.

Littleboy1 has fallen in love with him. While Hubby and I went to do all the boring stuff, I left the children at home with my mum.

When we eventually came home, armed with dog, Littleboy1 raced (no pun intended) to the door, wrapping his arms around Jasper (God knows what he was named after - Littleboy1 felt it suited him…) and showering him with kisses.

“I love Jasper, I love Jasper, I love Jasper,” he kept repeating, until we were able to chant it with him all in unison.

Jasper seemed at ease almost straightaway - he seemed to adore Littleboy1, and was following him around the house all day.

It got so bad that Littleboy1 even insisted that Jasper joined us for dinner. “No, darling,” I said. “Jasper can’t eat tea with us at the table. He has his own little place over there.”

I pointed to his bowl.

Littleboy1 promptly picked up his plate, put it down on the kitchen floor next to Jasper and his bowl, kneeled down and started to eat.

I didn’t stop him.

Before you call social services to report me on being a bad mother, in my defence, I was too busy dying of laughter to do anything about it.

I have a feeling Jasper is going to like our family.