What I am grateful for is that the baby is not driving the dogs bat shit crazy. Even when he's proudly showing off just how awesome his lungs work. They have adjusted to the baby's presence completely. . . and Bruno's definition of "completely" is that the baby doesn't exist. No sirree! No baby here! Sure, I may be holding something small and smelly in my arms, but it doesn't exist! La la la! No baby here!
It only took Bruno about three weeks to, on his own, take one tiny sniff of the baby. And then he ran. I'm waiting to see just how long it's going to take for the next sniff.
Carmela thinks the baby is alright. She does, however, have a few complaints.
"He's kind of smelly. Especially his bottom half.
He reeks like 50% of the time.
What gives?"
"And before he starts to really stink,
he makes the weirdest faces.
See?"
"And how come he always acts drunk?
He has no coordination whatsoever."
"Are you sure he's not getting into
your liquor cabinet when you're
not looking?"
"And how come he has so little fur?
It seems to be only concentrated on the top of his head.
Is he some kind of new weird-haired breed?"
Is he some kind of new weird-haired breed?"
"Alright, maybe there's one good thing about him. . .
he always has cozy blankets wherever he goes.
I guess he's alright."
"But don't tell anyone I said that!"
