We survived half term. I’d love to say we thrived, but honesty compels me to admit we’re merely trending upwards from a week of meltdowns and screaming matches. If I’m told to “go in the bin” one more time, I might actually take the advice and move into the recycler like Oscar from Sesame Street. At least it would be quiet in there.
Right now, we’re in that stage of puppy ownership that feels a lot like having a newborn again — hourly toilet trips, constant supervision to stop it eating things it shouldn’t, nipping, yapping, bouncing, and inevitable “deposits” in the house despite our best efforts. Because, clearly, we didn’t already have enough chaos in our lives.
In fairness, we did rather stack the deck against ourselves. Within forty-eight hours we managed to: get the puppy, host a relative visiting from 200 miles away, celebrate Halloween (a major event on the fae calendar), and throw a party. After that marathon, this week has actually felt… manageable.
The fae child, meanwhile, is desperate to help train the puppy. There’s only so much a seven-year-old can do at the best of times — add in the fact that she’s still a little nervous around dogs, and things get interesting. She wants to help, but won’t sit on the floor. She’s also baffled that the puppy doesn’t instantly respond to the name she’s just decided he has (“Ninja”). After all, she knows that’s his name now, so why doesn’t he?
Still, things could be worse. I’ve only been peed on once, the indoor accidents aren’t daily anymore, and Ninja seems to take great pride in tidying his toys back into the box. (I suspect we may have adopted a neurodivergent dog.) He hardly barks, which is another win.
All in all, Ninja is settling in beautifully. We’ve only lost him once — when he discovered stairs and ascended them like a conquering hero — and the fae child wears him out nicely after school.
The only family member unimpressed by his arrival is the cat. But then, she’s never happy about anything. She’ll get over
Raising the Modern Fae 