Chips'n Dipo: 2011

Saturday, December 10, 2011

A Dickens Christmas

So yes, it has been eons since we last blogged, and I owe you plenty of updates on our Prozac Puppy, our beautiful vacation to Nova Scotia and Maine, and Thanksgiving splendor to say the least. However, I wrote this earlier for my church's December newsletter, as a follow-up to our beautiful Charles Dickens Christmas party last weekend and thought you might enjoy.

In the 1600’s, Christmas was antiquated, controversial, and unpopular. Believed by the Pagans to be a Christian holiday, the Puritans, a Catholic holiday, and to the Catholics, a Pagan holiday, Christmas was poorly and parochially celebrated, if honored at all. In 1647, England’s Puritan leaders banned Christmas, and the Church of Scotland, Puritans of New England, and the entire city of Boston followed suit. Following the American Revolution, Americans as a whole disapproved of the celebration believing it an English custom, and the pattern continued.

By the time the early 19th century rolled around, Christmas was dead, as dead as a door-nail; there is no doubt whatever about that. Writers in the 1820’s began acknowledging that though the religious battles had waned, and sectarian tension nearly evaporated, the controversies had left a scar on the holiday, and they took it upon themselves to revive the spirit of Christmas - what they believed was a heartfelt and beautiful tradition of their ancestors - and a young author, Charles Dickens eagerly accepted the challenge.

Charles Dickens could only imagine what Christmas was like before the 17th century, which allowed him to shape the holiday, emphasizing goodwill, family and compassion. In 1843, he wrote A Christmas Carol, in an attempt to revitalize the holiday; and as it was accepted with instant popularity, Christmas as we know it was born. The novel is credited with associating Christmas with the following: family gatherings, seasonal food and drink, dancing, festive merriment, generosity, Christmas caroling, and the phrase ‘Merry Christmas.’

Since the time of Dickens, Christmas has amplified in popularity, and it has truly become a time to celebrate and give to our loved ones as well as those in need. It is a time for compassion, and a time to remember the many beautiful things in life, especially He “who made lame beggars walk and blind men see.” As Dickens’ story demonstrates, it is a time for reflection, repentance and recognition that our lives can touch and impact others both for good and for bad and it is up to us to make the correct choice.

The tale of Scrooge, an old miser, and a stranger to the spirit of Christmas can be seen to represent society as a whole. Reluctant for various reasons to embrace the season, and blinded by his own Ignorance and Want, Scrooge condemns the holiday, a clear metaphor for society in the 17thand 18th centuries. Yet, when Scrooge’s eyes are opened by the spirits of Christmas he welcomes the season with a softened heart, impacting the lives of so many around him, and for over a century, society too has welcomed Christmas with joy. Unfortunately, though still associated with generosity, family gatherings and merriment, Christmas is changing, and the patterns that lead to the rise of “Scrooge” are repeating.

Somehow, Christmas is once again falling prey to sectarian controversies. Schools are banning carols; parties are now labeled celebrations of the solstice; the phrase ‘Merry Christmas’ has been replaced by the politically correct ‘Happy Holidays;’ and equally as many people believe the holiday is too religious to be celebrated as those who believe it is abhorrently not-religious enough. The awkward battle over Christmas has resulted in a ghastly exploitation of the holiday by various commercial industries, who view the season with Scrooge-like tendencies of economic gain, and neighbors tip-toeing around with pursed lips, wondering if a plate of seasonal cookies, a beautiful carol or well-wishing card, or a compassioned phrase of goodwill and Christmas cheer will offend those they wish it upon.

This is a sad cycle that only we as individuals have the power to prevent. As Ebenezer Scrooge learned, the choice is up to us to embrace the true spirit of Christmas. Be generous with your fellow men. Love one another and celebrate with joy. Reflect on the blessings that God has bestowed upon you and share them with merriment and warmth. Consider the good in the world, play and delight in the littlest things as a child on Christmas morning - wide-eyed and overflowing with the spirit of giving, eager to gift away their most treasured items. Believe that miracles do happen, and follow the example of children all over the world, filled with unwavering faith, and unbridled joy, and do not be afraid to emulate it.

Be as Scrooge’s nephew, Fred, who fearlessly invited his cold-hearted uncle every year to Christmas dinner, and bestowed upon him heartfelt wishes of compassion and merriment. Be as young Tiny Tim, who despite his infirmity and poverty, aimed to remind others of Christ’s miracles through example, and brought joy to all those around him with his uplifting and selflessness and eternal words, “God bless us, everyone.” Be as Bob Cratchit, who in gratitude, asks for a blessing on his dictatorial and inimical employer, and though destitute, brings the optimistic spirit of Christmas to his family. Finally, be as Ebenezer Scrooge, and recognize that you can change overnight and that at any time it is up to you, and only you, to love your fellow brethren, to forgive and seek forgiveness, to generously share with those in need, to be a better version of you, and to cherish the spirit of Christmas.

Merry Christmas, and may God bless us, everyone.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Chipson's Crate Escape Revisted

As part of the new training regimen for Chipson, we are supposed to film her when we leave the house to see what she does while we are gone. The idea is to see how long she is distracted by toys and food we leave her, how long she howls for, if she takes any breaks, etc. As you may recall from earlier posts, we used to crate her whenever we left, but she always seemed to miraculously find a way out. For this filming, we decided to use Jenny's bike lock to secure the crate. Filming her therefore wasn't going to be so difficult since she was restricted to one small space and locked down pretty good...or so one would think.

As you will see in the video below, our Houdini puppy was not going to be filmed in one spot the entire time. Unfortunately, the camera ran out of battery before the glorious moment of her freedom could be documented. Please note that, while traumatic, Chipson was not hurt during this experience. And this has convinced us not to try crate training anymore. She's now a free puppy to roam about the house as she pleases when we're gone, and to leave little "reminders" that she doesn't appreciate being alone.

Every now and then she falls apart.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Happy Campers

Since last summer Morgan and I were not married, we did not get to go backpacking, pretty much ever. I bemoaned this fate and made him promise that this summer (2011), we'd be in the mountains every other weekend. Then, as you may recall, we tried to backpack in late October - but by then, temperatures in the mountains had dropped below zero at nights, and I am just not that hardcore. So we camped in the house.

I think it was March when we first tried to head out into the mountains. We looked for a good spring hike, but our SUV was stopped in its tracks, when we... literally... ran out of tracks. The snow got so thick so fast, we couldn't even drive within a few miles of the trailhead, and we were obviously not going far in tennis shoes and jeans. So we went back to the house and waited another few weeks for warmer weather.

Months went by, and any attempt we made to venture into the outdoors ended in similar situations. Finally, June was here, the days were warmer, and our schedule finally gave us an open weekend at the end of the month to go backpacking!

As we were heading up the trail, we met a couple coming down in crampons and snow gear who warned us that we were about to hit snow. We brushed the warning off assuming these folk to be REI freaks who simply wanted an excuse to wear cool gear.

We were wrong.

Fortunately, as it was warm and sunny outside, when we hit the 6-ft deep snow pack, most of the time the ice was strong enough to keep us on top of it. So, even though Morgan was in shorts we kept going up... up... up... following no trail, praying to avoid snow-covered rivers.

(This pic was taken at a low altitude but shows how the snow can totally mask the river... eek!)

The higher we got in this un-trodden territory, the softer the snow became, and the more often we would plunge into the deep icy tombs. Chipson LOVED the snow, she bounded about as if she was overly-caffeinated, but would occasionally leap into our arms to give her paws a break from the cold.

The plan was to get to the top of the ridge and then hike down into a lake basin. We assumed if we just got up and over we'd be snow-free, but once we finally made it to the top, soaked and sore, we discoverd the lake was non-existent (thanks to the total lack of snow-melt). Defeated, we began to head back down to find somewhere snow-free to pitch a tent and warm our frost-bitten feet.

We found a gorgeous spot, halfway down that happened to be free of snow, pitched the tent, lit a fire and watched the sun sink behind the mountains.

And then we froze.

That night, with Chipson shivering between us, we tossed and turned trying to stay warm. I had the pup wrapped in blankets but she seemed to only be warm enough when she was beneath my legs, or tucked against my body. At 1 am we decided to throw in the towell, as the cold became unbearable. But after surveying the landscape, and recalling that we had no trail to follow down, wet clothes and feet of snow, we vetoed that emergency situation, and continued to do our best to keep the three of us warm through the night.

About 2 am, Morgan tucked Chipson into his sleeping bag, which warmed her up and let me sleep an hour or so until he kicked her out so he could sleep while I had warming duties. Apparently, I dozed off, because at 4 am, I woke up to Chipson standing over me with a look of utter panic on her face shivering uncontrollably. It was just light enough out for us to see the pathway, so with frozen bodies, we packed up shop and slogged down the mountain. Of course, with soaked and icy shoes, we hiked these few snowy miles in Chacos - now that's a trip...

We made it home safe, with little permanent damage done, other than Morgan continuing to hate backpacking, and me making little progress in changing that opinion. Sadly, as horrible of a trip as it was, with Morgan's broken leg, it appears that it'll be the only backpacking trip this summer, which means next summer, we are going EVERY weekend! (Right honey?) Of course, this trip did teach me a lesson, buy a puppy sleeping bag, and invest in neoprene socks for when I plan to hike in Chacos in the snow.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Jenny's One-Man Band

The following is an extremely abbreviated list of things that Jenny has done for me since I broke my leg:

Help me walk
Take Chipson out to go potty (including during her bloody-diarrhea giardia episode that had her up every hour on the hour in the middle of the night for a few days)
Clean up after Chipson when she doesn't make it outside in time
Clean the house
Make breakfast, lunch, and dinner (I can't even make cereal without making a mess and working up a sweat from hopping around the kitchen)
Get me things to drink when I'm upstairs, downstairs, or on the couch
Carry everything for me (I can't even scratch my nose and walk at the same time because of my crutches)
Drive us everywhere (to the hospital, to Spokane, to the grocery store, everywhere)
Help me bathe
Help me pack my stuff for our recent trip to Spokane
Load everything into the car for our recent trip to Spokane
Do my laundry (although I have been able to at least fold my clothes)
Help me navigate rough terrain
Feed Chipson every morning and evening
Get the mail
Bring me my vicodin
Constantly ask, "What can I do for you?"
Organize little picnics and trips to the park so we can get out of the house
Play with Chipson since I lost my speed
Make the bed every morning
Buy birthday presents for family members
Take Chipson for walks
Rub my legs when they get sore (my left one because it carries the burden of my whole body, and my right one because it has to hold my up right foot off the ground all the time)
Work from home so she can attend to my every need
Hold me when I'm sad because I can't do stuff

The list goes on and on and on and on and on. Obviously, there is a lot to do when you need to take care of yourself, one puppy, and one immobilized husband. But with a superwoman like Jenny, you'd think it was just another day in the life. I love her lots.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Broken Leg Pictures

We saw the orthopedic surgeon on Monday, and my fibula indeed is broken, though not in the place anyone would have guessed. The doctor thinks that what happened is that my ankle got twisted, thus ripping up some ligaments (which is where the swelling and bruising is from), and putting strain on the bone to which they were attached (the fibula). This stress was enough to actually cause the bone to break about 3/4 of the way up, as indicated in the x-ray below.

I'm still in a lot of pain, but Jenny's taking great care of me and Chipson (who has bloody diarrhea from Giardia - yuck). She is truly a saint, and I would be much more of a vegetable without her. With her help, I've even been able to work from home for a few days now. I still have to utilize crutches for a month, and then be on a walking boot for a month thereafter. And then it's on to physical therapy to help me get my strength and flexibility back (not that I had any to begin with).

And now, drum roll please, here are the pictures of the inside and outside of my leg:

Saturday, July 16, 2011

The Crate Escape

Remember how we said we were going to start crate training Chipson? That training method is apparently intended for dogs that are not possessed by other-worldly demons.

We feel that we've done a good job in getting her to consider the crate to be a good place. We give her treats when she goes in it on her own, let her have bones and chew toys in there, and give her plenty of praise when she's in it. However, the first few times we left her in the crate when we left the house, she would inexplicably escape like a little Houdini-dog, and would naturally go do what she does best - pee on the carpet. Short of her growing opposable thumbs temporarily to manipulate the latch, we will never know how she figured out how to open the gate.

Our next step in confining her was to use Jenny's bike lock to keep the crate closed. This worked great probably twice. Then we had to leave her there for five hours during my visit to the emergency room. This did not sit well with the devil dog.

Realizing that the doctors were going to win the waiting game, we decided a good idea would be to have Danny and Derek go over to the house to at least let her out to pee. We figured that she might be scared to have people besides me and Jenny in the house, but that with proper incentives (treats), that she would get over her fear and make new friends. Danny and Derek will testify that we were wrong. Despite ten minutes of attempted persuasion, Chipson would not leave the safety of her crate to feel the warm embrace of Derek and Danny. Instead, she barked and snapped ferociously until those invaders left her territory. Were it not for her lack of speech, I'm sure she had quite the story to tell us later about how she repelled their attack.

By the time we got home from the hospital, we had been away for over five hours. As Jenny started unlocking the door, we heard Chipson's characteristic anticipation-whimper coming from downstairs, which meant she had miraculously escaped once again from her Alcatraz on the second floor. At the scene of the Crate Escape, we found that she had chewed through one of the wooden bars to get out once Danny and Derek had left. This meant that, at 1am, Jenny not only had to help her hobbling husband up the stairs, but then had to return to the scene of the crime to clean up the disaster that Hurricane Chipson left behind.

We (by "we," I mean "Jenny," since husbands on Vicodin can't use tools) have since tried nailing the bar back into place, but the ingenuity of mere mortals is no match for Chipson's wizardry. Lesson learned - don't fence her in.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Oh Snap!

Since I started getting old, I have turned to soccer as a new favorite sport. It's a great workout, pretty low-impact for my now 26-year-old body, and a lot of fun. It's even better because it's something that I can do with Jenny in a co-rec league.

Much to my dismay, however, our league is littered with people who mistake the word "co-rec" for "World Cup Final - MMA Style." These are typically guys who didn't make it beyond high school soccer, and now are living out their dream/frustration by slamming goals in D-leagues against people who have little-to-no experience.

I'm no good at soccer footwork, especially against these guys, but my relative size at least allows me to hold my own and maintain positioning against a lot of them. I take great joy in heading away a ball that otherwise would have been headed into our goal by a shorter opponent. I also take great joy in letting said opponent know that, although he can run circles around me, he won't be pushing me around.

...which brings me to last Tuesday. We were nearing the end of a game that we were losing 1-0. As our team started pushing forward more and more to try and even the score, their team ended up having occasional odd-man scoring opportunities against us in the open field. On one play in particular, I was the lone defender against a guy that was running right up the middle looking for a cross from his teammate that was running along the sideline. At first, he was a few steps ahead, but my long legs quickly negated that advantage as I again positioned myself to be the first one to have a chance at any high ball. Maybe he didn't see me in front of him. Maybe it all happened too fast for him to slow down or change direction. Maybe I got between a competitive jerk and his goal:

At any rate, he ran right through me, and we fell together pretty hard. The initial impact was kind of like being tackled as part of a dog pile touchdown celebration - not so bad. Somewhere as our jumbled mess fell back down to earth, though, my right leg got caught between him and the field, and I heard a loud, bone-chilling "SNAP!" The immediate sharp pain was the worst I ever felt, and let me know in no uncertain terms that my leg was broken before the rest of me hit the ground. I yelled uncontrollably at the top of my lungs, and immediately regretted it as I heard Jenny's very concerned reaction. I wanted to tell her that I would live, but I couldn't help it, so I just kept screaming out in pain.

I was initially convinced that I had suffered the exact same injury in the exact same place that Steve Zakuani had a few months earlier for the Sounders:

As adrenaline and a state of shock set in, the pain subsided somewhat, thus allowing me to survey they damage as my teammates gathered around. It didn't take long to realize that my leg had not been snapped like a twig, but more like my ankle had been twisted like a rag. Friends started asking me if they should call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance to pick me up. At first, I didn't care...I was in so much pain, I just wanted the same treatment a horse gets when it breaks its leg.

After taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I thought it would be best to have Jenny drive me to the ER, as opposed to paying an ambulance $500 for the same ride. We probably arrived close to 9pm, and didn't get out until after midnight due to the waiting game that doctors like to play. You know: 1) Welcome to the hospital! Your leg looks like it was put on backwards, but we'll be with you in just a moment. 2) Please fill out this insurance form so that your insurance can pay for your injuries, as well as those of people who can't afford health insurance. Then we'll be right with you. 3) Thanks for waiting, now we'll check your vital signs. Ok, looks like your heart is still beating. That's fantastic. The doctor will be right with you. 4) Ok, let's take some x-rays because we don't really believe your leg is broken. The doctor is going to have a look at these images, and will be with you in just a moment. 5) Looks like your leg is likely broken. Here's half of a baby aspirin. As soon as the doctor is available, he will see you and give you something better for the pain, assuming you don't pass out first. 6) Ok, our doctor is not competent enough to analyze the x-rays fully, so we're going to have a radiologist have a look so that we can also charge your insurance a little bit more. Then the doctor will be right with you. 7) Yep, you weren't lying - your leg is definitely broken. Here's some Percocet. Night night. We'll just put you in a cast and you'll be on your way.....blah, blah, blah, you get the idea.

Anyway, I'm now waiting to see an orthopedic surgeon on Monday who will have a closer look (after a great deal of waiting in his office, I'm sure), and determine next steps, which may include surgery. In the last 48 hours, my appreciation for Jenny in my life has grown immensely. I would have been nothing more than a depressed vegetable if it weren't for her taking care of me and enabling me to do things I wouldn't be able to on my own. I was even able to put in a full day of work at home thanks to her help today. I hope to be able to serve her half as well someday when she needs me most.

PS: I may have exaggerated the other guy's intentions a bit for the story. I don't hold any grudge against him. Besides, I still stopped him from scoring. If that's not taking one for the team, then I don't know what is.

Monday, July 11, 2011

At 9-months old

A friend of mine (Mallory Grover) does this adorable thing on her blog where she talks about each kid and says at 9-months old, Tacey likes... and Tacey dislikes... etc. Since Chipson is the rotten apple of my eye, I thought I would do the same thing with a bit of elaboration.

At 9-months old, Chipson likes:
- Dead things (she would be an asset to Bones)
- Consuming wood (Morgan thinks it is for her fiber intake)
- Swallowing rubber toys (she has the most colorful poop in the land)
- Ripping the face off of toys (the first ten minutes of the life of any toy, is the last ten minutes it has a face)
- Touching both Morgan and I at the same time (if we are sleeping, this usually results in Morgan and I laying vertically on the edges of the bed, while Chipson is stretched as long as possible horizontally between us, touching...well...pushing us both.
- Whining (our dog is the most vocal dog you can imagine)
- Little Kids
- Butterscotch cookies (unfortunately for Morgan, they are his favorite too, and they surprisingly eat them at the same speed)
- Flowers (when we walk down a path of flowers, Chipson bites the head off of every flower, and leaves it on the path)
- Salad (she is a wannabe vegetarian)
- Digging

At 9-months old, Chipson does NOT like:
- Alone time (please let the torn up molding, door and drywall be testament to this fact)
- Confinement (she has figured out how to unlock the crate door, which has forced us to lock the door with my bike u-lock, and even that seems questionably secure)
-Shrimp (for an animal that eats every dead crab leg on the beach, this is an enigma)
- Any adult besides Morgan and I
- Big dogs, lots of dogs, and the dog park in general (it's hilarious, her affinity for whining, becomes clear)
- Jogging (on occasion I try to force Chipson to run with me, and she has learned the secret to making us stop. As we are jogging along briskly, she will suddenly lie down, completely halting the forward momentum, and bringing my shoulder to a near-breaking point)
- Staying on her bed through the whole night (every night we go to sleep and she is safely curled up at our feet; every morning we wake up with her stretched between us.)

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Chipson's New Home

Despite repeated attempts and various methods, we have become convinced that Chipson cannot be house trained without a crate. We have been very diligent and consistent, I feel, but I think the fact that her daycare lets her go wherever she pleases has hindered her progress. She actually does a great job of holding her bladder and bowels in front of us, but if we're gone, she seems to know that we are helpless from stopping her poop-capedes.

We even tried turning the downstairs bathroom into her own special room while we were gone. I thought we did a great job getting her acclimated to it. It even seemed like she learned to like being in there. Well anyway, that didn't turn out too well:

Yeah, that's the molding torn from the wall by our bathroom door.

So, we have finally decided it is time to get her a legitimate doggy crate. After a couple days of searching on Craigslist, we found this bad boy:

She can sit, lie down, roll over, high five, shake, stay, leave it, come, go see mommy, go see daddy, drop it, etc. Slowly, but surely, I'm sure we can teach her to be comfortable in her crate. Any tips? Let us know in the comments!

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Le Cordon Bleu

I abhor traffic - and yes I know, who doesn't. But I particularly LOATHE it when I am sitting in the middle of it watching a 13-minute commute translate into an hour commute over what feels to be three-hours' time.

This is my commute any time I leave the office between 5:30 and 6:00, otherwise known as the preferred time of departure of Waggener Edstrom employees. Thus, I find myself loathing traffic quite a lot.

Fortunately for me, Morgan is just too smart to ask the hackneyed question of "what's for dinner?" as I am banging my head against a steering wheel believing a gain of 5 feet to be a colossal win. In fact, he is so smart he usually calls when his tummy starts rumbling to offer up dinner options that HE can cook. The menu often looks like this:

- Frozen ravioli
- Canned ravioli
- Frozen tortellini
- Egg sandwich
- Frozen Asian entree that I keep in the freezer for just this purpose.

AND I LOVE IT. I expect nothing more, and I am grateful for his help. Which is why last night was just so flummoxing.

As I was mourning my fate of eternal limbo approaching the 520 bridge, I received the rumbly tumbly call.

M- "Hey babe, I'm thinking about dinner, and I thought maybe I could make some tortellini?"
J- "HUMBUG YOU SCROOGE OF A DRIVER!!! Some jerk just ruined my life and cut in line."
Silence
J- "Yea, sure, make whatever you want, thank you."
M- "Are you sure that sounds ok? Do you feel like tortellini?"
J- "Oh yea, although, now that you mention it, I really feel like Chicken Cordon Bleu. Hahaha, yea that's what I really want."
I explain to Morgan, who had never heard of this dish, that it is the hardest thing I could think of to make, and of course I was joking and of course tortellini is fine.

12 hours later when I returned home (ok minor exaggeration) I expected to find tortellini growing cold on the stove with canned pasta sauce bubbling in the microwave. Instead, Morgan was pounding his second chicken breast flat, the other neatly rolled up stuffed with ham and blue cheese and entrenched in bread crumbs.

He was making chicken cordon bleu.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Chipson 63, Morgan and Jenny 1

If you remember correctly, we have a running score on Chipson's clever attempts at our lives. Since our last post of 53:0 we attempted to even the score with one of my favorite pastimes...

Chocolate.

Apparently eating half a bag of dark chocolate chips is not so healthy for a dog. For that matter it warranted an emergency room visit and a hospital stay. So yes Chipson, the score is now 53:1

Unfortunately, the score didn't stay like that for long. Today, Morgan and I left the pup at home as we went to play our late-night soccer game. We always bet what sort of smelly surprises she left us, and what thing she might have destroyed, but never could we have guessed that this particular night Chipson was once again plotting to kill... or at least cause a big enough explosion that she would be free and able to come find us!

When we returned home the strong smell of gas greeted us and so did a peculiar sound of rapid ticking. Quick as he is, Morgan darted up the stairs to find the stove had been turned on and the pilot light was snapping away, flame lit, gas filling every crook in the house.

Well Chipson, good try, for that matter, I'll give you ten points, but seriously that could have been bad, real bad.

With the new score of 63:1 I'm not going to lie, I might start leaving out chocolate on purpose... but then again it is kind of fun having your pet be your arch nemesis.

Till next time Chipson Dipo, till next time.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Lessons learned at the paddle

It's a good thing Chipson learned to swim, because summer is FINALLY here and we are definitely a water-loving family.

To embrace one of the first warm days of the year (ok, so this post is about a month old) Morgan and I decided to take the pup out canoeing. We left the camera at home, rented canoes from UW tossed her in the middle and pushed off the explore the arboretum.

Naturally, we were nervous about Chipson being on the boat, and so we left EVERYTHING in the car having accepted the fact that there was a good chance we'd end up in the water. Sure enough, Chipson was going nuts on the boat, hopping from my lap to Morgan's feet and going from side to side trying to bite at each droplet of water. Needless to say our nerves were heightened and our cores feeling the strain of the balancing act.

We paddled into the calm waters of the arboretum, caught a few turtles and basked in the sunshine. After a few hours Chipson's interest in the water had tripled and her frantic jumping encouraged me put her on my lap and hold tight so she wouldn't tip the boat. Her ears went back into submission, her heartbeat subsided, and I thought we were in the clear.

I was wrong.

In the blink of an eye, the weight was gone from my lap and Chipson was engulfed by water. As her head surfaced panic set in as she desperately clawed for the boat and I began pulling my jacket off ready to dive in after her (which looking back, would have been the absolute worst thing I could have done)...

Chipson obviously gave up on me in my stupor and her desperate eyes turned to Morgan who pulled her back on the boat as if he was plucking a leaf from the lake. He really is amazing.

She sat in the canoe shivering uncontrollably as we paddled our way back to land. When we pulled up on the beach Chipson leapt into the sand and as a sailor kisses the ground after returning from months at sea, Chipson peed instantly for a whole minute. We walked five steps and she let loose again. Without exaggeration in less than 7 minutes Chipson peed over 15 times. Morgan and I were doubled over in laughter and if our tummies weren't hurting before they sure were now.

Fortunately the remainder of our paddle was full of ease now that Chipson had learned her lesson. I'd like to think that she does learn lessons, but now that I think about it, outside of what time we give her food, and a couple of circus tricks, I am not sure that she has ever learned anything. On the contrary, she has Morgan and I wrapped around her little paw and we are learning every trick she teaches us.

Lucky dog.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Chipson Learns to Swim

An ongoing frustration with Chipson has been her fear of swimming. Many times we have taken her to a beach where we throw ball after ball into the water just to see her get up to her chest, at which point she gets scared and runs back into our arms.

However, today at Magnuson Park we came prepared with shorts and sandals to help coax her. We started with me wading out to my knees and just calling to her. She was visibly upset that I was risking my life in such a way, but she still wouldn't venture beyond her elbows. That's when I called in the professional - Jenny. She also brought along a stick that Chipson had shown some interest in.

The insanity of her parents' decision making was now taking a toll on Chipson. Plus, that delicious stick was tempting her from only a few yards away. Not wanting to spend any more time alone, Chipson began to venture out. First to her paws, then to her elbows and chest. But that darn stick was still just out of her nose's reach. And her parents just seemed so confident she could get it! Crazy, right?

Suddenly, a small wave pushed the stick tantalizingly closer as we egged her on. This was Chipson's window of opportunity - now or never. Mustering all of the puppy courage she had in her, she made one final, desperate lunge for the stick. But alas, the lunge was poorly timed, a little too ambitious, and ended up just pushing the stick out further. Plus, Chipson now found herself in deep water and it was time to sink or swim. And swim she did! She missed the stick and began swimming to deeper water thinking she had pushed it even further. Now her dad had to make a decision....was it time for him to get wet and rescue her? Nope, a little whistle got her going back in the right direction towards shore where she was rewarded profusely with love.

We're such proud parents!

PS> We would have taught her much earlier, but the weather lately has really stunk.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Chipson Reunites with Uncle Duke

Here are some neat pictures that Jenny took from our most recent trip to Spokane to celebrate my dad's 60th birthday...obviously, Duke has warmed up a lot more to Chipson:

Cuddles

More cuddles

The Dipo's go for a walk. Chloe tooted on my shoulders.

Duke and Chipson stand watch....in a very poor position.

Derp!

Chloe loves her uncle Morgan.

Chloe goes for a swing.

Mom, the party host.

You'll notice that someone is missing from a lot of these pictures....I'm trying to get Jenny into more of them.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A little note times ten

Last night for FHE, Morgan planned an activity where we each wrote ten small notes about the other and then hid the note somewhere that the other person would randomly find over the next few weeks. It was so wonderful to channel my thoughts into ten little notes, and I was so excited for Morgan to find his. Little did I know mine would come with gifts too!

I have to share with you this note I just found, because it really is too sickeningly adorable, and honestly made my day - so maybe you should do something like this for someone you love.

Taped across my credit card was the following:
"Everything I ever have is now yours! I want you to be super happy with yourself, so take this card, and go buy yourself some new shoes, some chocolate, a new special hat, etc. You deserve it!"

Oh how I love my Morgan. Unfortunately, since I used my lunchbreak to write this blog, I will now have to wait until tomorrow to go shopping, but I will definitely go buy some new shoes AND chocolate, sheesh Morgan, twist my arm.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Doggy Daycare

Well, we've come to find out that having a puppy isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's not all snuggling, playing, wrestling, going for walks, teaching new tricks, etc. There's also pooping, peeing, separation anxiety, chewing, whining, and destroying of homes without human supervision. She's a darling when we're around, but when we're gone.....well, she let's us know that she doesn't appreciate it.

So, we decided to sign her up for doggy daycare so someone else could deal with the negatives of us not being able to be around her all the time. Strangely, you can't just give a doggy daycare cash and have them watch your dog whenever you want. First, your puppy has to be "accepted" to their prestigious educational institution. Then, the dog has to make tryouts to be on their weekly schedule. We found this all out the week before Jenny was going to start her new job, so we had to move quickly, and if Chipson didn't make it, we would have had to leave her as master of the house while we were gone.

On Friday the 4th, we went snowboarding and left Chipson at the daycare for her varsity tryouts. Remarkably, she didn't even notice that we handed her leash to someone else as we left. And when we came back, we were told not only that she had made the team (pack), but also that she was a perfect sweetie the whole time. One of the daycare workers said she played very nice with the other puppies, and that when she got tired, she would just come and cuddle up on the nearest human's lap. So, she also made the starting rotation so that we could bring her in Monday-Friday!

Now, we bring her in every morning, and pick her up every night, and she's the happiest pup in the world. And the big bonus is that she also gets all the exercise she needs, so she's just a big puddle of cuddle when she gets home. Now, Jenny just needs to find something like that for me.....

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Note About Perfection

I was asked to write a spiritual thought for our Relief Society this month, and though it has nothing to do with our puppy, or Morgan's awesomeness, I thought it would still be nice to share here. Enjoy.

Last night about 50 million people tuned in to watch the Academy Awards. They critiqued and admired the perhaps thousands of stars dressed in what they would consider their very best. For months the women had been dieting and trying new ways to sculpt perfect arms. For weeks they had met with designers and stylists trying to stay ahead of the styles and create that groundbreaking beautiful look that journalists would praise. As these gorgeous women stepped onto the red carpet nerves, fear, and self-consciousness flooded their thoughts as they desperately attempted to portray confidence. Many of these women have been on a no food diet. Many exercise 4 hours a day, and many are addicted to various drugs that pump their bodies with adrenaline and caffeine thus hyping their metabolism. These unhealthy bodies are cloaked in diamonds, fine materials, and excessive makeup. Some have gone into serious debt to pay for their appearance. But they know they are under critique and as a star and a model to the world they are obliged to be what the media coins “perfect.”

So we sit back and soak in “perfection.” We watch from the comfort of our homes in old sweats with a big bowl of pasta wondering why our bodies don’t look like theirs. We admire the clothes, the makeup, the accessories and hair, curious if we could ever look so beautiful. This handful of women, not even half a percent of our country’s population represents the ideal, the standard by which we will judge ourselves for another year. We agree with the journalist when it is noted that so and so has put on weight, or that some other girl had an outdated dress. We admire, we critique, we get it, we now know what “perfect” is.

But do we? Sisters, these women attended parties last night drinking away their sorrows, their stress, and their pain. Many went ‘home’ to truly broken homes with a number of divorces already behind them. Few have children, and those who do are forced to deal with teaching them how to be perfect children of perfect people. A great number of lives have been cut short by substance abuse, but at least they looked good on camera.

These are not perfect lives. How dare we degrade such a divine concept, perfection, with images of sickly women bathed in material beauty? What is perfection? What should I look like? What should I wear? Who should I be?

As Christ says in Matthew 6:24; 28-33“Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

Strive to be perfect in the way the Lord would have us be. Our healthy lives, our softer bodies, our chaotic homes bursting with Christ-like love, families and happiness, our $20 dress from Target is far more perfect than most of those beautiful idols flaunting “perfection” will ever be. By looking to them as models, we are setting ourselves up for self-deprecation, depression, and angst. Look to yourself; look to the example of the Savior. Be proud of the beautiful and original woman God made you to be. Flaunt your own shape, delight in messy joyous children, celebrate a life without debt, and be confident in knowing your divine worth. Be a perfect you.

Read tonight a few scriptures about being perfect and throw away those images of what you deem to be a truly beautiful woman, and replace it with a picture of somebody you admire: perhaps a grandmother, a sister, or maybe even you. May I suggest 3 Nephi 12:48, Psalms 101:2, James 1:4, Moroni 10:32 and Deuteronomy 25:15.

Oh Sisters, we are so blessed to have good role models in our lives, but more importantly, we are blessed to know that we are daughters of God, and he made us unique in so many ways. Abraham Lincoln once said, “Whatever you are, be a good one.” I completely agree and therefore encourage you to be a perfect you.

With love,
Jenny Dipo

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Big Baby

We have had our pup for almost 3 weeks and she has grown 20%!!! Can you imagine growing that much bigger in 3 weeks? Just imagine the growing pains, and seriously no wonder she seems to eat every leaf, root, dirt clod, paper, trash and cord laying around... Ok, I'll admit it, she eats everything - but can you blame her?
The other day I left her in the car (which I had been doing often, and won't anymore) for about 15 minutes. When I came out, despite four chew toys and bones scattered about my car, she had eaten half way through my seat belt. It is no longer functional. So, what does that count on the point system? An attempt to take my life? I think it deserves 50 points which brings the total to:
Chipson 53 Morgan and Jenny 0

Good thing she has a cute face, and is in every single way adorable and cuddly. Oh I love her so much. Why must she be out to kill us?

Friday, February 11, 2011

Chipsonitis

Since Morgan wrote about his pup-related injury, I thought I'd share mine. This morning, I awoke to a sharp pain in my right ankle/calf tendon (despite the fact I studied biology, I avoided anatomy like the plague and will thus refer to it quite comfortably as my ankle/calf tendon). As Morgan limped about this morning with his broken foot, I, perplexedly, followed suit and the two of us hobbled about. I had not figured out the origin to this tendonitis until I took Chipson out for her morning jog, when suddenly it all came clear.

Every day if I want to maintain sanity and control in the house I take the pup out for a nice long run or a MILLION walks. Since she is a puppy, I am not supposed to really 'jog' with her until 18 months, but with her energy I cannot justify running on my own and walking her recommended few minutes a day. Yea right, this dog needs SERIOUS exercise. So today despite my inflamed tendon, I had to take her out, and hoped the jogging would help with the pain. Not even two minutes after I started running Chip darted in front of me, turned and jumped up causing me to stop fast, mid-run, in an awkward lunge. BAM SWOOSH OHEFPOEPOJFWOIEHPOJSF LIGHTNING PAAAAAIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNN!

And with the flash of pain, a flash of understanding came over me. This habit of darting, turning, jumping and stopping me in my tracks is completely common for our little Chip - thus creating a seriously inflamed tendon. So, Chipson 2, Morgan and Jenny 0.

Someday, I pray, we will figure out a compatible running program. Because, quite honestly, if Chip isn't running, I may lose all the skin and feeling in my wrists and hands. A teething, overly-energized puppy is no match for my once peaceful life, but Chip, I am learning, and as you lie in your bizarre post-run stupor, I am plotting ways to tame you, to calm you, and hopefully even the score.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Break a leg! (foot)

So, Chipson challenged me to a wrestling match last Friday. Not being one to deny a challenge, I gave her my best shot....and ended up with a broken foot.

There I was, running all around the house with the dog always close behind. At one point, I was at the front of the couch, while she was at the back. She had been chasing me round and round, but was growing bored of the game. To spice things up, I slowly made my way to side of the couch to lure her to chase me again. As soon as she started moving, I made my move and hurdled the couch on one miraculous display of athleticism....almost. My left foot clipped the backrest on the couch, and my controlled bound turned into an awkward fall. Seeing my impending doom in front of me (our hutch that sits several feet behind our couch was threatening to disfigure my face), I made a split-second decision to sacrifice my right foot.

I didn't hear the classic "pop" that most broken bones make, but I definitely knew something wasn't quite right. So I rubbed some dirt on it, walked it off, and coach put me back in. Ok, not really. As soon as Jenny was done drying my tears, I put some ice on it, and went to bed. I spent a few days limping on it before we noticed that there was some meaningful bruising going on in the area I had hurt. Sure enough, after seeing the doctor today and getting x-rayed, I have my first broken foot! My fifth metatarsal has a well-defined crack in it, but there is apparently not much we can do about it except wait it out.

Chipson: 1, Morgan :0

(Not my foot)

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Pie

Morgan's dad owns a pie shop, and so for the longest time I shied away from making pies - for obvious reasons. However, lately, I can't seem to make enough. Leftover soup? Make pie? Leftover spaghetti sauce? Make pie? Random assortment of vegetables soon to go bad? Make pie. So I invite you, dear friends, to embrace the remainder of this winter, stalk up on some veggies and soup, and make pie.

Last night, since I had an abundance (like 2 pounds) of spinach in the fridge, asparagus, portabellos and chicken - I could think of no better way to consume it all than in the shape of a delicious flaky cheesy pie.

It's simple, get a good pie crust recipe (or pate brise) and for the filling, just start by sauteing and steaming the ingredients. Next, add milk, butter and flour (if you want a creamy sauce) add just enough until the consistency is right, let it simmer for a while and voila! In the case of this pie - with a lot of relatively bland veggies, I added a lot of asiago cheese and some cayenne pepper to give it a kick, and sort of a cheddary taste.

I usually only bake my pies for like 45 minutes to an hour, yesterday we baked it giving us enough time to run Chipson into the ground at a tennis court. One day, she may learn that it is fun to run after a ball we throw, and even more fun to continue bringing it back to us. Right now, she just looks at us like we are crazy. I think she honestly has no idea why she should go get the ball that she JUST ran and brought back to us moments before. I agree with her, looks like we have a smart dog (or so I keep telling myself).

Sunday, February 6, 2011

The Great Dog Escape

As you may have picked up before, Chipsanne is our little Devil Dog. However, I have yet to describe why such a name is warranted, other than as Morgan mentioned, her pooping peeing 'a-plethora' problem. So now on to reason two: anxiety disorder to the max.

We picked up Chip at a shelter and she was assumed to be 3 and a half months old. As is protocol, she had to be at the shelter for 3 days before being adopted so the previous owners could claim her. Unfortunately, Chipson's family did not come looking for her... which I guess, was quite fortunate for us, but maybe a bit scarring for her. We are guessing, since the pup was found roaming the streets, that since she was perfectly healthy, groomed, and seemingly domesticated and mildly trained, she had been owned before. However, as we have learned, she is QUITE the runner, and when given the opportunity to be a little free she has taken off like an Olympic track star. So, we believe she escaped from a home and perhaps ran to a different county, or her owners simply decided to give up. Either way, she got caught, and stuck in a shelter for 3 days before we swept her off her paws and put her into our lives. Now, perhaps as a result, she has SEVERE anxiety disorder. She will cry at the door when you are in the shower. She paws at the door while you are in the bathroom. She follows you around EVERYWHERE and since the closest she could possibly be to you is RIGHT between your two legs, she has very sadly, more than once been stepped on or tripped over.

We sort of love that she adores us so much, but in an attempt to break the habit, we keep leaving her alone and paying less attention to her when she seems to beg for it. The first time away from her our carpet was destroyed, and I found more poop in the house than I had EVER seen come out of her all of the days we had her combined. The second time, I decided to use the crate (we have heard good things, but she LOATHES it). My mom had come over for the day and we wanted to go out to lunch. We put her in the crate and went downstairs to listen a few minutes before we left. As we listened, the dog turned into vicious dinosaur, and screams, barks, roars were emitted as the crate was obviously being rolled across the room. Suddenly we heard the pattering of her paws, followed by more terrified yelping and then scratching at the door. The devil dog had escaped.

Attempting to never leave her alone except for small increments at a time, by Wednesday I felt like I was under house arrest. So I decided to buck up and do something I knew she'd hate. I put the crate in the car and Chippy and I went to Costco. When I got there I lured her into the evil cage with some treats. Quickly I closed it,TIED the zippers together to prevent escape, shut the trunk and headed in - at least I knew the car wouldn't be ruined when I got back, and her barking though frightful to passerby's wouldn't bother the neighbors. So relaxed, I headed into Costco.

30 minutes later, I returned and my heart sunk as I saw her head in the window... not the crate. As I approached (her yapping seemed to have never ceased) I realized that ONLY her head had made it out of the crate. The rest of her body was stuck inside, and the whining was due to not only fear of separation, but probably pain. Cesar Milan (The All Mighty Dog Whisperer) says to show no emotion, and avoid greeting your dog when you return home from being out. So I calmly loaded all the groceries into the car watching in horror as the crate was being tossed to and fro her body-crate-covered desperately trying to keep up with the direction and desires of her head.

When I finally went to her aide, I realized that her head was completely stuck. I really had no clue what to do, and not wanting to give her comfort, but rather discipline (another Cesar trick) I was at a loss as to how to calm her down and get her out. People passing by stopped and looked at the frantic bouncing crate about to fall out of my trunk with a puppy's head sticking through it as I sat helpless on the asphalt. Great - 4 days of motherhood, and already somebody is going to report me to puppy services or something.

Eventually, she calmed down enough and I was able to push her head back inside the crate. Needless to say, we have yet to close that crate door since. Furthermore, the other day, I heard destructive pouncing and tearing coming from the blue room (where we keep all her stuff) and I found her attempting to destroy her crate. She was successfully toppling, pouncing, pushing and pulling the crate all over the room. I got the message. No more crate.

I'm beginning to wonder, who's training who?

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Potty Training

I'm really not looking forward to potty training a baby human someday....potty training a puppy that thinks it's a baby human is difficult enough. After hearing stories from coworkers about kids that smear poop all over bathroom walls, I figured potty training a puppy must be a breeze. Fail.

When we first adopted Chipson and were staying at my parents' house, we took her out as often as we could to help her get used to doing her business outdoors. In fact, the first two times she peed were outside, so we thought she may not even need that much training. Then she pooped next to my parents' bedroom. Then she rolled in poop when we stopped off the freeway on our way home from Spokane. Then she pooped in our stairway. Then she pooped in our guestroom. Poop, poop, poop.

Peeing also hasn't been that great. If we left her alone for more than 30 seconds, she seemed to find a chance to pee on the carpet somewhere. If we take her to the door to go outside and pee, she couldn't seem to contain herself and would pee in the mudroom. There were a few occasions where I was putting my shoes on to take her out only to hear the piddle noise, and was then forced to pick her up mid-stream and run outside (with only one shoe on) before she was all done just so I could say, "Good girl!" when she peed outside. The problem is that if you don't clean up 100% of the "scent" she leaves behind, she will still recognize that "spot" as a good place to mark again - with a vengeance.

Then came Wednesday, February 2. 2011 - a day that will go down in history. She finally started getting it! Jenny was in the living room when Chipson, who was at the top of the stairs, started to whimper. On a hunch, Jenny took her downstairs to see if maybe, just maybe, if Chipson was trying to let her know it was time. Sure enough, as soon as Jenny took her outside, the desert of our walkway turned into "A River Runs Through It." Later that night, I was in the kitchen when Chipson again began to whimper at the top of the stairs. "No," I thought, "lightning does not strike twice." But even a broken clock is right twice a day, and after taking her outside, it was clear that Chipson indeed needed to pee again.

She's still not 100% there, but is well on her way. I would hardly consider ourselves to be dog whisperers, but at least we know our house won't have to always smell like, well, you know. She really is a great dog that is full of love....and poop.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Our Chipper Chippy Chip

People say that new couples get a dog as a way to postpone the women's desire to have a baby. I guess, they think, that as a women starts getting a little baby hungry, giving her a puppy will satiate that desire for at least a few years.
HA.

Well let me make this very clear, I was in NO WAY baby hungry, but having a dog DEFINITELY ABSOLUTELY ENTIRELY EMPHATICALLY has made this little Dipo family say "no" to babies for like the next ten years.

But, before I dive into the stories of the rascal that is now ours, let me give you a little background info as to how our hearts were won:

For about a month we have been very actively looking for a dog. All of our Saturdays were filled with puppy hunting, and the evenings were spent at an occasional shelter or on Petfinder.com. We sent out at least 30 applications for dogs in the Western Washington area, just so we could meet the dog. We found a few that pulled on our heart strings, and tears were often shed... well by me, but I cried enough for the both of us, as we struggled to adopt a pup.

I'm not sure that we were necessarily SUPER ready for a dog as much as we just realized that we both REALLY wanted one within the next year or two, and that right now, as a stay-at-home, sell-my-soul-to-the-internet-job-hunting wife, without plans of thoughts of kids for at least another 3 years, we really could not pick a better time to raise a puppy.

You see both of us have dogs at our parents' houses.

Morgan has a weimaraner named Duke who is just the greatest cuddliest

loving dog and a pure joy to be around. My folks have a black lab named Shadow, and I am 100% convinced that he is perfect in every single way. He does not beg, he does not get into the trash, or even eat snacks off a coffee table. He stays right at your side without a leash, and is loving when you want him to be, but independent when you are busy. I assumed since I was there all through his life, and Morgan all through Duke's that naturally we would be able to follow suit and raise the perfect dog. We also believed (quite naively) that our puppy would be perfect from day one.

Ha. Ha.

Anyway, this past weekend Morgan and I went to Spokane to see Brian Regan with his family. We stopped at the Wenatchee Humane Society to look for a dog, but as was typical, the dog we seemed to fall in love with, was already adopted. So come Saturday morning, despite a plan to go to every single animal shelter within a 100 mile radius of Spokane, we were feeling defeated. We went to like five places early in the day. Every single time we got to the shelter just before it opened we waited in line like (as Morgan said) shoppers at Wal-Mart on Black Friday. With no success we basically gave up, and my puppy hunt was feeling all too similar to my job hunt. Then, as a last ditch effort, we went to Spokanimal, a seriously ghetto shelter. There in a little cage, huddled against the door was this little black and white ball of affection with the saddest brown eyes. I went up to the door and it came straight to me leaning with adoration into my touch through the cage. We fell in love right on the spot. Sure enough, however, the paperwork was gone which indicated the dog already had someone interested in it.

After being defeated many times before I was NOT going to lose again. I, honestly, began scouring the cage door to see if I could puppy-nap it, that was how desperate I had become. Morgan went and waited in the mile-long line to get information about the dog. And me, in my desperation, went on a serious hunt. The family that had pulled the paperwork were being shown to the cage. I stealthily followed them to our pup's door, holding my breath. I stood there like a vulture waiting for an opportunity to dive in and steal the pup away from them at any sign of hesitation. Sure enough, the employee told the family that he shouldn't be adopted until their cat had been introduced to the dog. They nodded and began to pull away, and BOOM that was my opportunity! I swooped in, I cried "I don't have a cat, and I want to adopt him, what do I need to do?" My heart was pounding, tears were in my eyes. He looked at the paperwork, and said that the dog had literally just come out of his holding period, was fixed yesterday, and was in fact ready and AVAILABLE to be adopted!!!! HURRAY! HUZZAH!!!!

The entire time we talked to the employee he referred to the dog as a 'he' so when we went out and played with him, we naturally thought it was a boy, and we settled on the name Chipson Dipo. Ten minutes later, at the adoption checkout counter, we registered him as Chipson, and he was even microchipped with the name. Then the lady says something like "Oh she was spayed yesterday so take these pills..." To which Morgan was like "you mean neutered." The lady looks at him, repeats herself, and I swoop up the dog to check. Sure enough, 'he' was definitely a she.

Well, for the rest of this dog's life, everybody will think Chipson is a boy. My mom suggested changing the name to Chipsanne which I believe is quite genius, but sadly, she is already registered and her little tag is engraved... So you can call her whatever you want. I was raised by a dad named Stacey and am married to a man named Morgan. Names are totally cool when they are a little bit gender confused.

We took our pup back to the Dipo's, where she met Mittens the very angry cat, and Duke the very jealous boy. She was loving, adorable, and calm on that first glorious day...