We're calling it.

We have a walker. Ben took his first step just a little over a week ago. This was him last night. All night. All over the house. Forget about crawling. That was so yesterday...literally.

The Haircut.

Today was the day. I finally worked up the courage to cut Benjamin's hair. I almost hated to do it because the poor guy doesn't have much and it is so very fine. He's been working on growing the little bit of hair that he does have for well over a year now. It felt a little wrong to cut off any of it, but it had to be done. Every time he was out in the wind his comb-over became quite evident and it seems to me that comb-overs, even atop the cutest of babies, are just wrong.

Here is a before picture. As you can see Benjamin had sort of let himself go.

Here are the essential haircut items I used. 

And the final result....a happy customer.

The haircut turned out fine (I think - we shall see what Ben's hair styling auntie has to say about that), and the $10 shears I purchased have already paid for themselves. Now it's time to play!

What died in here?

Off and on for the past week or so Jeff and I have been grossed out by the smell of our family car. Some days we'd get in and wouldn't notice anything. Other days we'd accuse each other of, well you know, fluffing in the car. But the odor came and went, came and went several times over. We thought perhaps it was from the banana that was accidentally smooshed into the floor mat or that we had left a dirty diaper in the back from our camping trip (we used the back of the Rav for a few diaper changes....classy, I know). Then today, after some thought and investigation I came to the realization that I was at fault for the foul smells that we smelled. You see, I take Benjamin and Osa for a walk most mornings and most mornings Osa does a little jobby (I know, I've been writing a lot about puppy and baby potty happenings lately...welcome to my world). Well after Osa is done with her job, I pick up after her, as all good citizens should do. I use thick plastic odor resistant bags, tie them up and look for the nearest garbage can which happens to be the one located by our garage most days. Apparently I had forgotten to toss Osa's bag of stuff when we got home and left it in the basket located in the undercarriage of the stroller. Don't judge me because I put poo-poo in my child's stroller....it's in a sealed bag for goodness sake and it's not like I make Benjamin ride down there. I'm not sure just how long that particular bag sat in the stroller, but the stroller was loaded and unloaded from the back of the car several times which is why the aroma came and went, came and went. So there you have it. It was my fault, but now that the bag has been tossed I can go back to blaming Ben and Jeff for any other suspicious scents that may arise.

Kids these days...

Hope somebody teaches this kid some manners before he goes to Kindergarten...

How an undiapered baby can find a new use for an air vent...

Well Benjamin has had a bit of a diaper rash this week, and by the looks of most of his diapers I can't say I'm surprised. Not sure if he's having trouble because he's switching to cow's milk or because he is teething, but things have been busy at his changing table. The other night we decided to let Ben roam the house, how shall I say this, uninhibited to give his skin a chance dry out. He was out there and loving every minute of it. Up and down the hallway with his walker he went. I'm not exactly sure how long he went about the house in his birthday suit, but it was for quite some time because I remember thinking that he should probably get his diaper back on before he used the floor as his own personal toilet. It was not too long after that thought crossed my mind that I heard Jeff say something about going potty. Sure enough, Benjamin had crawled over to our picture window, stood up to give the neighbors a show, and proceeded to tinkle into the air vent. Fantastic. Pretty good aim for a one-year-old, I will give him that. I just hope that we aren't reminded of his little exhibition every time we turn on the heat and the warm air blasts through the aforementioned potty vent.

Doggy Duties

Osa, Osa, Osa. I love my puppy, quirks and all. She's darling and she brings a lot of joy to our house. I find some of her behaviors very amusing....

...the way she rings her bell to go outside only to turn right around and come back inside the house for a treat

...how she shakes with excitement when she sees a squirrel in the grass out back and then charges him at just the right moment

...when she goes crazy running circles in the backyard or on the carpet in the basement

...her digger-dog ritual where she goes into her kennel and digs her little heart out when she's frustrated

But one of her little quirks, although quite amusing, has entered the realm of totally ridiculous. Osa is very particular about where she does her job during our walks...you know, the big job. I don't know what exactly she is looking or sniffing for, but it has to be a matter of great importance the way she approaches it. Walk, sniff, walk, circle, sniff, walk, walk, walk, sniff, sniff, circle, walk, sniff. I'm sorry to even be bringing this  subject up (not really), but just the other day she was so insistent on finding the most perfect place for her duties that she frantically walked and circled and sniffed for a good 3 blocks before she finally, you know, made her deposit. No kidding. THREE blocks! Now I know that dogs like to find just the right place for these kinds of things, and I can't really blame them. I suppose it's akin to using an outhouse versus your own personal bathroom. But really, Osa, don't you think you're being a little bit of a princess? Three blocks of grass before you were able to find a spot that was good enough for your stuff? I hate to break it to you, pup, but your poo is just not that special. Any spot will do for your doo-doo.

Oh, I see how it is.

I will probably regret it, but I'm going to give Benjamin his first haircut...at home...without the help of a trained professional. Yes, I am one of those mothers who is going to try to save a buck at the expense of my child's hair. I figure Benjamin was nearly bald for a good portion of his life, so even a bad haircut would leave him with more hair than he'll know what to do with. I'll try to trim just a little at a time so that if it looks really terrible I can still bring him in to the salon and have them fix it. I'm sure it will be fine. I do have some experience in this arena. I cut my bangs and the dog's hair too and I've only messed those jobs up a few times. Osa never seemed to have much psychological damage from the experience, so I'm sure Ben would handle a bad haircut just as well.

I'm on the hunt for some scissors now. Even though I'm not a pro, I've decided not to use the scissors from the junk drawer for Ben's haircut. I can be pretty cheap, but it seems wrong to use the same scissors that cut out boxtops for his hair so I stopped by a beauty supply store this morning. I unloaded Benjamin from his car seat and lugged him into the shop. When I walked up to the front counter there were 3 girls standing behind it, all dressed in cute clothes, all made up. I did not receive a smile or a hello or a "how can I help you?" from any of them. I decided to start the whole customer service exchange by saying, "I'd like to buy some shears. Could you help me find some?" to which one girl replied, "We're wholesale and we only sell to licensed cosmetologists and stylists." How did she know that I wasn't?!?!? I used the word shears for crying out loud. That doesn't sound like the kind of word a licensed professional would use? So how could she assume that I was not? Oh, I see how it is. Yeah, okay, so I hadn't showered, my hair was in a pony and there was no make-up on my face...my baby's nose was running and I'm pretty sure he had just rubbed it on my shirt when I got him out of the car, but there's no way she could have definitively known that I wasn't a licensed professional. I simply held my head high and asked, "Do you know of a place in town where I could purchase shears (yep, I used it again)?" She looked down her nose at me as she muttered the name "Sally's". She said it with such disdain it's as if  the name left a bad taste in her mouth. "Thanks for your time," I replied as I walked out the door. And thanks for the tip. I will go to Sally's. I will go to Sally's, the place that welcomes unkempt stay-at-home moms who are trying to save a buck. I will go to Sally's and spend my money there, and when my son is rockin' his super sweet new hairdo and everybody asks me where I bought my scissors I will say "Sally's" and they will all go there too. Deal with it.

Cake and candy and birthdays, oh my!

One of my great joys growing up was when my mom made my birthday cake. She had a cake pan in the shape of a doll. Each year my birthday cake was made to order. I got to choose what kind of candy I wanted for the doll's hair, eyes, nose, mouth, buttons, etc. It was always long licorice for her hair, sometimes black and sometimes red. Spice drops, red hots, jelly beans, skittles, and all sorts of other yummy goodies. I have the fondest memories of watching and helping my mom with the cake and eating it too. I'm not sure why the doll cake created such fun, but it did and when I had Benjamin I knew I'd want to start a fun birthday tradition for him too.I saw this cake pan when I was at a kitchen store with my sister-in-law and loved it immediately. It's no doll, but Ben's more of a train guy anyway. I put it on my Christmas wish list and his Grandma C got it for us. I've been eagerly anticipating making this cake for my sweet boy, so much so that I actually did a practice round today. Yes, I'm that girl. I'm the girl who is so excited about baking and decorating and celebrating my boy that I had to have a little pre-birthday trial run. It was such a blast to do just this little bit of the cake and I cannot wait to make the whole train for my big Ben's birthday. It's hard to believe that a year with my baby has come and gone already and we'll be celebrating his first birthday in just a few days. But believe or not here it comes. I have mixed emotions of excitement to celebrate Ben and sadness to realize that time with him is going more quickly than I'd like it too. The good news is all of his birthdays will come with built in comfort food...cake and candy. Oh my...

You know you're a scaredy cat when a movie preview keeps you up at night.

I don't even really like cats so I hate to compare myself to one, but there's really no other way to put it. I am a scaredy-cat. I do not like scary movies. Well really it's not so much that I don't like scary movies as much as they disturb me for days after watching them. I used to be able to watch any movie at any time of day and never be bothered (I once watched Silence of the Lambs by myself late at night). But now for some reason those movies get to me. They're just unsettling even though I realize that the chance that I'm going to encounter a serial killer or a vampire or any other such antagonist in my lifetime is small or even impossible. Doesn't matter though. They still bother me. So when Jeff and I watch a scary movie we have to plan accordingly. He has to be home for at least the next 2 nights and we have to start the movie early enough in the evening so that we can play a little Mario or something before going to sleep. We also have a deal going where he tells me when I should open and close my eyes. I'm sure most people would say I'm missing all the "good" parts doing this, but I'd rather close my eyes during the movie so that I can close my eyes when it's time to sleep. Ridiculous, I know, but I cannot help myself. I was not prepared for what happened tonight though. Unfortunately a preview for the movie Don't Be Afraid of the Dark came on while I was watching TV, alone, late, after dark. Jeff isn't here to tell me to close my eyes and he'll will be at the hospital all night and there's nobody to play Mario with before bed. And now the house is making creepy noises and every time I hear an acorn drop onto the roof it makes me jump. To make matters worse the movie title is sitting there on my brain, mocking me. Don't Be Afraid of the Dark. The thing is I wouldn't be afraid of the dark tonight if I hadn't seen the preview for Don't Be Afraid of the Dark. Stupid scary previews with stupid mocking titles.

So happy together!

Benjamin loves to see his daddy come home after a long shift. He hadn't seen Jeff for nearly 24 hours yesterday morning, but they shared some guy time before they both went down for a nap. Wrestling, racing and other shenanigans were all part of the fun. Benjamin really enjoys his new car that he got from Grandma and Grandpa B as an early birthday gift. He's been having a rip-roarin' good time with his new toy, especially when his daddy races him. He hasn't figured out how to ride it yet, but he has become very proficient at pushing it (a skill which will come in handy if he runs out of gas some day). He is working on making car noises now. Here are some videos of Ben's guy time with Jeff.

Busy racing Daddy...and falling over...and getting up to finish the race...


But not so busy that he couldn't stop to show off his latest skill of standing by himself...


And finally getting tuckered out...

Seriously mom, I'm almost one.

When Benjamin was first born up until about he was about 6 months old he was a very spitty baby. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I had to change his outfit 3-5 times a day, and I usually had to change mine more than once a day too. It was terrible. No burp cloth could contain this child's explosions. I don't want to be gross here but the words projectile and gushing come to mind. Then once he started solids his tummy seemed to settle down little by little until eventually (probably about a month or so ago) I no longer felt the need to have a burp cloth handy at all times. I can remember how excited I was the first time Ben was able to wear the same outfit for an entire day. It was wonderful to cut back on doing so much laundry and I was even more pleased with the fact that I didn't have to try to keep Ben or Osa from playing in the little pools spit-up that he deposited around the house. Life was a lot less messy, for a while anyway. Benjamin has recently decided that he no longer needs my help while eating. He's been eating finger foods for a time now, but just this past weekend he thought he should take over spoon duty and he's quite insistent that he feed himself all on his own. He practically lunges at his bowl and spoon during mealtimes. And don't even think about taking his spoon away. He suddenly cannot seem to let go of it. I thought I'd try to contain the mess and shorten mealtimes by giving him a spoon to experiment with while feeding him with another. He likes to have both spoons. When I take one back he squawks at me as if to say, "Seriously mom, I'm almost one. I'm not a baby anymore." Okay buddy, you're big boy, but look at you...don't you think you could use a little help? It's fun to watch him learn how to maneuver the spoon just so and to see him become a little boy. But I have to admit I wouldn't mind spoon feeding him a bit longer just so I wouldn't have to go back to mountains of baby, excuse me, little boy laundry. I'm having a hard time understanding how he manages to get the food all over his bumper and up his shorts while he eats his dinner. Oh well, he doesn't seem to mind the mess, and neither does Osa. She's never eaten so good.

If you forget about it, you can forget about it.

Recently I bought two beautiful zucchinis at a local market. I had plans to cook some up for Ben and to make bread out of the rest. I had lots of plans for lots of fruits and veggies that I picked up that week...peach sauce and applesauce for Ben, steamed veggies for a chicken dinner, etc. Since I had stocked up and had a lot of pealing, chopping, steaming to do I set the zucchini aside with plans to get to it the next day. Then we had company. Then Jeff had a few days off. Then I forgot. I forgot that I had put the zucchini on top of the fridge and had left them in a plastic bag. And I kept forgetting, until tonight that is. I saw that plastic bag on top of the fridge and I knew. I knew that my beautiful squash would no longer be usable. What I didn't realize was that when I lifted the bag down from the fridge my gag reflex would be activated by a bag of sloppy, soupy zucchini mush. It was seriously one of the most disgusting food disasters I have ever encountered. I'm assuming most of us have forgotten about a container of food in the fridge for a little too long or have had that loaf of bread that's been hanging around longer than we care to admit, but this was one of the more grotesque food dilemmas I have experienced. I'll spare you any further details about the appearance, transport and disposal of the zucchini mush, but I will give you this tidbit of knowledge. If you purchase zucchini, no matter how perfect, and you leave it in a plastic sack on top of the warm refrigerator and you forget about it, then you can forget about it. Gross.

Anti back to school days.

It was not so long ago that I dreaded these days...back to school. I'm not going to lie to you. I prefer not working over working, summer vacation over school days and generally not being responsible to anyone other than my family. It's not that I don't like teaching. I do. Teaching was a great fit for me. I got to spend time with children, and I like children. I was given an outlet for creativity through instruction. I worked with a great bunch of people (seriously great people - I can't even express how amazing my coworkers were). And truly it was fun watching kids learn, mature, and get excited about things like learning a new skill or a silly song or goofy game. Even though I liked my job I looked forward to summer vacation and hated to see it come to an end. I think most teachers experience the same thing. But there was a sense of excitement and fun at the beginning of the school year that I enjoyed. I always thought it was fun to reconnect with work buddies and get to know the kids and come up with new ideas for the classroom. Now that I'm not on the school scene anymore I feel a little nostalgic as I reminisce about how fun my job was. But not to worry. Those feelings will dissipate the next time I see a misbehaving child at the store.

Have you seen a baby lift weights? I have.

I'm always on the lookout for new toys. I think the reason is that we spend a lot of time at home, Benjamin and I, and you can only play with the same toys for so long before little eyes start to wander towards things like the stereo or the PS3 or the antique lamp. It always seems like new toys provide a little extra distraction for busy Ben and allow me to get a few things done around the house. They may even give me the opportunity to go to the bathroom or eat lunch. The other reason I like looking for new toys may or may not have something to do with the fact that I like to shop. People have been telling me that babies are just as happy playing with an empty box as they are playing with the expensive toy that came inside said box. I have found that to be true many times. Benjamin has played with and inside of his fair share of empty boxes. He's played with my pots and pans, empty food containers (today it was the Hershey's cocoa container that occupied Ben while I baked brownies), water bottles, and much, much more. But no matter what interesting little doodads I give to Benjamin he has a knack for getting into the things he's not supposed to. The other day it was my small hand weights. I hide them behind Osa's doggy bed. He found them. I hid them. He found them. I hid them. He found them. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. At first I didn't think he should have them since he might pinch a finger or something, but he is a persistent little thing, and I hate to admit it...he wore me down. I know. I know. It might just be hand weights today, but before I know it I'll be battling with him over homework and curfews and the like. Don't worry. I'm giving Benjamin his fair share of guidance and correction. I'm a teacher after all. There's plenty of control freakishness going on around this joint. Just ask my husband. Besides after seeing how much he loved playing with the weights, lifting them and pushing them around the floor, I decided it would make a pretty cute picture. And really, who am I to dissuade my child from healthful physical activity? Also, it kept him out of the no-no's for at least 10 minutes, and let's face it, 10 minutes is a lot of time in baby world.

How an innocent comment can bring out the junior high school boy in nearly every man.

Buns! Oh my goodness, you have not had a good bun until you have eaten one of these. I know that I should probably call them rolls in an effort to eliminate any confusion as to whether I am referencing buns or buns (you know what I mean). I think the original came from my grandma, but my dad has tweaked this amazing recipe for the rolls pictured above. Not kidding, the sweetest, softest, best rolls I have ever eaten. He shared the recipe with me and now I make them quite regularly for gatherings with friends or just for our daily bread. Every time I've made them they are gone in a flash. There was one particular time that our company enjoyed the rolls and a good laugh. During that meal everybody was saying how good the buns were and I went on and on saying things like "I know, my dad's buns are so soft" and "My dad has the best buns". I didn't even realize what I was saying until all of the guys starting giggling like a bunch of junior high school boys. By the time Jeff clued me in to what they were laughing at I had probably made at least a half dozen comments about my dad's buns...soft, fluffy, sweet, etc. Now that I know how juvenile males, even grown men, can be about "buns" I try to use more discretion when it comes to word choice. But the joke continues. Recently we had some friends over and Jeff was sure to tell them the story while I was out of the room and encouraged them to compliment me on my soft, fluffy buns. Oh well, I guess I'd rather have people joking about my buns than my rolls.

Daddy's Roll Recipe

Combine 2tsp dried yeast, 1/2 tsp sugar and 1/2 cup of warm water in a large glass. Set aside.

In a sauce pan heat 1/3 cup of shortening, 1 cup milk and 1 tbsp honey (my dad uses 2% milk but I've used skim and it works fine too). Heat to 180 degrees.

Meanwhile in a large bowl beat one egg. Add ie1 tsp salt and 1/3 cup sugar.

When the milk and honey mixture reaches 180 degrees add it to the egg mixture. Allow the contents to cool until the temperature has lowered to 80 degrees. Stir occasionally. For rapid cooling set bowl in cold water.

While this is cooling sift 4 1/2 cups of flour.

After the milk and egg mixture has cooled to the desired temperature add the yeast mixture and stir together. Then stir in all but 1/2 cup of the flour with a wooden spoon. You may have to use your hands to mix the dough well.

Knead the dough for about 7 minutes adding the reserved 1/2 cup of flour as you do so. The dough should not stick to your hands and should spring back after it has been properly kneaded. My dad does this by hand. I use my Kitchenaid mixer. You can find tips on YouTube for either method.

Grease a bowl. Place dough inside. Cover (I use a hand towel) and allow to rise for about 1 hour. Punch dough down to remove air. Allow to rise for another hour. Form dough into balls about the size of a golf ball (larger for hamburger buns) Place on greased cookie sheet. Allow to rise once more.

Preheat oven to 330-350 degrees (I do 330 because my oven bakes hot). Bake for about 12 minutes or until golden brown.

Enjoy and brag about your buns.

Don't say I didn't tell you.

Have you ever experienced the humiliation and pain of falling on a treadmill? I have. It's terrible. Yes, I'm that girl who wasn't paying attention to what she was doing because she was too busy watching TLC's "What Not To Wear" and tripped all because she was trying to learn how to be more fashionable. Running disaster. And if you saw what I wear most days you would also know that I'm no more fashionable as a result of my dedication to watching the television program either. Currently I am wearing sweats and a t-shirt but to my credit it is past 10pm. Anyway, I wasn't wearing the safety clip. I fell. It hurt. A lot. Then within one month's time the very same thing happened again. So I decided I should either clip myself to the safety key or I should run with knee pads and a helmet. I opted to wear the clip. In my defense I was running on one of those long-distance treadmills with treads on the belt and I'm pretty sure that's why I tripped...that, and perhaps a little clumsiness on my part.

Every time I go to the gym and hop on a treadmill this (see picture) is what I see. Does everybody wrap the safety clip around the handles like this? I have never seen anybody else use a clip. In fact, I have never seen a clip that looks as if it has been used. So each time I get ready for my run (although it's really more of a jog these days) I unwind the cord and attach it to my shorts. I'm sure it annoys the next runner and they probably wonder why anybody would use the safety clip. Obviously those people have never had the adventure of falling on a treadmill...twice.

Perhaps I am the only person above the age of 5 who has ever fallen or nearly fallen on a treadmill and perhaps I am the only one who ever will. But the clip is right there. I would use it if I were you. Then again, if I were you I probably wouldn't have fallen in the first place. If you were me, then you should DEFINITELY wear the clip. And if you choose not to use the clip, don't say I didn't tell you. And don't watch "What Not To Wear" when operating a treadmill either...or any heavy machinery for that matter.

Everything is temporary.

There are times when I think that residency is not so bad. This is not one of those times. I'm selfish about my time with my husband and I miss him terribly when he is gone night after night, working long shifts and catching on sleep during the day. It's times like these when I feel like residency is something I'm trying to endure, which may sound silly since I'm more of a spectator than a participant in this journey. But endure is indeed the word I am feeling.

He never shows it, but it must be tough on him too. I admire him. There is no way that I could do what he does. Obviously I'm not a doctor (I don't even play one on TV), so technically I couldn't do it anyway. But even if I had the degree and the knowledge and the ability to perform well under pressure I simply could not do it. I would not be able to function under the hours or the pressure or the gravity of it all. I try to remind myself of that when I'm feeling mopey about it. It gives me an appreciation for the challenges my husband conquers every day.

I let my imagination wander a bit today as I was tempted to craft a letter to the hospital asking if they could loan Jeff out to me and Benjamin or give him time off for good behavior. It's hard to see him go off to work every night and it's even more difficult to welcome him home only to realize he needs to sleep during the day. It's such a tease to know that he's home and down the hall and not be able to spend time together. During these rotations I miss eating dinner as a family, listening to Jeff and Benjamin play together, and cuddling on the couch to watch a movie after putting the baby to bed.

This is, of course, no tragedy and when compared to life's big picture my situation really is not that bad. In fact, it seems a little silly to make such a big deal about the woes of residency when I know full well that there is real suffering going on in the world around me. But in a small way it deepens my belief in this...it's temporary. Circumstances in life may be difficult or disappointing, even heart-wrenching. But they are temporary. Everything here on Earth is temporary. Something happens. You deal with it. You move on. It may last a very short time. It may last a very long time. But it will only be for a time.

So I will save myself $0.44 because I don't need to send that letter to the hospital. Benjamin and I will get to spend more time with Jeff next month, and I will treasure it because that will be temporary too!

High fives are still cool.

Today Benjamin spontaneously decided to start giving high fives. My folks were visiting for a few days and as he was giving them hugs and kisses goodbye he suddenly threw out his little hand and gave my mom a high five. Of course I realize that fist bumps and complicated hand shakes and such are allegedly cooler than Benjamin's new trick, but I grew up in an era where high fives were the thing to do. We also tight-rolled our jeans and teased our bangs until they stood 4 inches above our heads. I no longer subscribe to those trends, but this is different. So give your high fives as much as you like. I love watching you learn your new tricks and I think it's totally dope, little dude.

Please do not judge the cleanliness of my child based upon the carrots and broccoli that are covering him and the surrounding area. They have since been removed.

Watch out for the broccoli.

It's always good when you discover that something about your appearance may embarrass you before you go out in public (zipper down, lipstick on teeth, etc.). You may inwardly experience a little humility, but if the situation is contained and witnessed only by you then no harm done. That's why I was so glad that I discovered the broccoli that Benjamin deposited in my hair before I left the house. I'm not sure if he was trying to hide his food so he wouldn't have to finish it or if he was storing it for later consumption. Either way I'm still left wondering how it got there as Ben was sitting in his highchair and my head was a good 2 feet from his vegetable hands throughout the entire meal. Maybe he threw it at me when I wasn't looking. At any rate I would like to issue this general warning... If you serve a small child steamed broccoli and allow him to feed himself you may be finding little green bits of mush on more than just the highchair and surrounding surfaces (table, wall, floor, ceiling). Also be warned that the dog may not be interested in cleaning the food off of the floor in her usual way. Apparently steamed broccoli does not have the same appeal for dogs as other foods like turkey or lasagna. It would be a good idea to invest in a mop if you should find yourself feeding a small child such things. Now to work on converting the dog to a vegetarian lifestyle.

Puppies!

What is more fun than having a boy and a dog to entertain you? A boy and 2 dogs. My parents' little fluff of a dog was visiting for the weekend while my folks enjoyed an outdoor bluegrass festival to which no dogs are permitted. Apparently hillbillies and hippies can attend, but canines are out of the question. Benjamin had a wonderful time with two dogs in the house. He greeted both pups each morning, watching them stretch and getting good morning kisses from both of them. The dogs romped around quite a bit playing tug o' war and teasing one another and Benjamin couldn't get enough. He loved watching them tussle. If the dogs were doing anything other than laying down Benjamin was watching their every move. And when the puppies went outside he was ever watchful, not wanting to miss out on any of the excitement. Double the doggies, double the fun....at least for a few days anyway.