No new pictures, still. It has been pointed out to me that it’s kind of sad that I pull up Ace’s breeder’s Website and just stare at the pictures from two weeks ago. Between you and me, I even talk to them. So far, they haven’t talked back, and it is my professional opinion that I’m still fairly sane. (Fairly.)

In case you too are interacting a little too intimately with this blog, here is a new video of someone else’s BTs at five weeks, the age Ace achieved on Thursday. Their motor skills are improving, and they are somehow becoming cuter.


I’m hungry for more pictures of little Ace, but, alas, none are available as of this very second (and believe me, I keep checking). To tide me over, I found this incredible video of a litter of BTs at four weeks (not Ace’s litter). I am amazed at how well they’re walking at that age! Look at that wide-legged gait! Already they are trying to play just like the big doggies. Enjoy!

A Guest Post from My Alcoholic Puppy Daddy

I like to take care of my friends, which is why I commissioned this guy to entertain you today with a recipe for booze. Yes, booze! And what’s better than booze? Why, booze dedicated to your dog, of course!
Behold, from the fingers of El Jefe himself:
“I’m as obsessed with cocktails as Dr. Roses is obsessed with Boston terriers. Sometimes I mix other people’s drink recipes, but just as often I try to come up with cocktails of my own. So when the Doc told me that she’d finally found Ace, naturally I started thinking about how to formulate a signature cocktail that was worthy of the occasion.
“Metaphorically, I wanted to create a cocktail that reflected some of Ace’s most notable traits. I knew I wanted it to lean sweet—but not too sweet—with some spiciness and a little bite. And I wanted to somehow capture the awesome white stripe on Ace’s backside.
“For a drink that leans sweet, I always think of rum first. I decided to mix a couple of different rums to get some of the best qualities of each. For the spice, I started with Kraken spiced rum and added homemade falernum, a witches’ brew of overproof rum, ginger, cloves, lime, and allspice. And for the bite, I used a splash of Batavia Arrack, a delectable but unruly spirit that’s distilled on the island of Java from fermented red rice and sugarcane.
“A few minutes later and I had this:
1 1/2 oz Kraken rum
1/2 oz Cruzan Black Strap rum
1/2 oz falernum
1/2 oz lime juice
Barspoon Batavia Arrack
Long, thin strip of lemon or grapefruit peel, with lots of pith
“Cut the pith away from the citrus peel; discard the peel. Shake all ingredients with ice, omitting the citrus pith. Strain into a cocktail glass. Float the pith on top of the drink, towards the side of the glass.
“If by some chance you have all these ingredients around, don’t hesitate to make an Ace and leave a comment telling me how it turned out. And if you don’t have these ingredients, well, what are you waiting for?”

Mommy Dearest

The past several days have been an emotional roller coaster. Ask El Jefe. One minute I’m explaining the logistical considerations of dog poo removal, then I’m weeping with joy, and then I’m just cackling mindlessly. A coworker friend  compared my experience with pregnancy. Except, you know, I’m not preggers. I’m adopting a non-human critter from the Central Valley (very different).
But, dear readers, as much as it embarrasses me to admit, there do appear to be similarities between being with child and being with puppy. Disclaimer: I have never been pregnant, nor have I, to my knowledge, harbored a fetus in fetu. But, I have watched sufficient Lifetime movies and TLC specials to understand that baby production is truly a righteous God’s gift to Adam’s favorite rib. A gift I’ve politely refused… until now, apparently.
Yet, despite all the self-castigation, the similarities between the two experiences are undeniable. I’m researching doggie health insurance and puppy kindergarten. I’m debating the merits of cooking my own dog food (El Jefe said that maybe we should try to make ourselves home-cooked meals on a regular basis first). I’m afraid to start looking at puppy clothes because I might not be able to control myself.
I’m curious to see how this insanity evolves. Please feel free to leave your judgment in the comments section, which I have aptly renamed to promote ongoing, unsolicited advice-giving.

It Begins

She opened her eyes today. It kind of blows my mind that dogs are born blind.
Adopting a baby Boston terrier has been closer to an obsession than I’d like to admit. For a long while, it simply wasn’t possible. Then, I started to accumulate the necessary props: an apartment that allows pets, an income that allows spending, a state of mind that is open and calm. I’m sure my little bundle of hell on paws will do her very best to test the integrity of all these carefully orchestrated variables.

It feels like everything came together out of nowhere, all at once. Things like this — big, exciting, happy, life-altering changes — have a way of feeling sudden. I spent so much time thinking about her, wondering about her, imagining the weight of her leash in my hand or her small form curled into the crook of my knees, that she existed firmly in the realm of fantasy. She was my waking dream.
Now, she has a face, a complex genealogy. She has a story, and I’ve just entered it. Scene: Waiting, waiting, waiting with my cellphone firmly stowed in my back pocket. Taking it to the restroom, to fill my teacup, pacing the edges of my office. When the breeder called me back and nonchalantly, routinely, casually asked if I’d like to pay with Paypal or if I might have a Wells Fargo account… there was this lurching moment where I didn’t quite understand. And then I stammered on about Paypal and how I just happened to join yesterday, and we settled on a price, and she was mine.
Everybody, this is Ace. She is less than two weeks old. She only just began to see the world around her today. She’s never met me, can’t even comprehend a world outside of her cozy nest of Boston love. And she’s my girl.
She kind of looks like a gerbil. A fetal gerbil. But she’s definitely my girl.