Welcome home, Taco

So I reckon there are momentous days in life, like getting married, graduating school, landing your first job – and then there’s the day you bring home your first puppy.

We met our little mate after a hairy drive down mud (previously dirt) roads in the rural areas down state. The breeder was freshly moved in to a new life in the country, and had a little litter of one month puppies by the front door, who were a mess of wriggly little faces one moment and a pile of snoozing bodies the next. The future Mr Taco Hoffman was waiting in his crate for us next to his Mum. Once let out I got a big teary cuddle before the Husbo and pupdog became immediate best friends and ran laps up and down the house.

We were given an overload of information, all of which we promptly forgot when we looked at our little pupper. The breeder administered the bortadella shot, we paid up and bundled Taco into the back of the car. After reading comprehensively on the topic, I’d covered the backseat with a towel, and brought along two stuffed toys from Goodwill and a little chew bone. All of them held his attention for a few minutes at a time, between little snoozes and chewing the seatbelt.

Our drive back up north was a decent 3.5 hours, and we stopped multiple times for fear of accidents. We had no near misses, which gave us false confidence for the night ahead. Taco played on some curbsides, scratched furiously at his collar, and bit his lead. We were convinced we had the smartest, bestest, most handsomest dog in the world.

Taco took to his new house perfectly, sniffing everything, biting some lamp cords (ugh) and walking in and out of his crate. He loved his Goodwill toys, and inhaled his dinner. Then he peed on the carpet. We really did our best to encourage him when he went outside, but it is a fair journey to the currently selected pee spot, which also happens to be heavily covered in snow. I remain convinced he is cold and confused, which explains our failed 2.30am pee trip, and this morning’s indoor accident.

On the plus side, he cries himself out quickly and I wasn’t forced to live through the sleeping-next-to-the-crate scenarios I’ve heard others do. Or maybe I just slept straight through it.

Even if he is a little rambunctious, he is too cute for words. He’s napping next to me now and I’ve stared at him for five minutes straight. Little bugger.

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