It's In the Bag

When we first decided to get a dog, Craig was adamant that we didn't get one of those "stupid" dogs that rides around in a purse, as if the dog comes with specific purse instructions (double strap, supple leather, synthetic lining, with a hidden side pocket).  And anyway, I think I deserve a little more credit than that.  At the most, I would tie him up in a little napsack and carry him on the end of a stick like a hobo, but not in a purse.  I know that he wanted a huge dog that could fetch and maybe not do so much sneaking under the couch.  But in this house, with this yard, I just didn't think it would be fair to the dog.  Plus, one of the last times we were around a mammoth, it walked up behind me and put his front paws on my shoulders.  I don't want to rehash our whole relationship, but basically there was an involuntary interspecies conga line for a few seconds and I've been a little rattled since. 

Max ended up a little smaller than we expected, but perfect nonetheless.  He's never ridden in a purse (the poots!), but he is definitely a lap dog.  As karmic fate would have it, it's almost always Craig's lap.

And speaking of karma---