No, we don't have a dog. Not yet.
Late in August one night I got an itch, a bug, or a case of the crazies if we're really getting specific. All of a sudden, as if I didn't have enough chaos in my life, I really wanted a dog.
The type of dog that we have deemed perfect for our family could be a blog post unto itself (which it will be) and in turn makes me a new breed (no pun intended) of off-your-rocker insane. Rather, I'm posting today about the funnest game our family has ever played, which, coincidentally, is the next step after you decide what kind of dog best suits your family.
Our game: "Let's name our dog!"
We're getting a big dog. A working dog. A giant. Having said that, we have spent hours,yes, hours and hours and hours tossing names back and forth around the dinner table, on car trips, walks, and after bedtime stories. We're out of control.
Having a three-year-old boy with parents who are gluttons for potty-talk, Luke has already exhausted his toilet-themed dog names, which include "Let's name our dog Diaper," "Poopy Pants," and "Booger."
My names are not lacking in creativity, but are slightly more appropriate and include "Norman," "Pharaoh," and "Optimus Prime."
Mark prefers "real" names and leans more toward the Scandinavian persuasion. He would vouch for a name like "Bjorn," although, I don't think Dante is out the question (not all Vikings are of Norwegian descent.) (Do you get that? Did you laugh?)
We are months (at least) from any animal additions in our household, but it's still fun to talk about. Someone should make me stop this silliness.
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