Things are getting screwed up left, right and centre. I just had to correct a mass email four times after sending it out about who is getting which pup, and I was chewed out and apologizing like crazy. I don’t blame the lady, I had her email and her name messed up even the gender of the puppy, which I knew was female, but I wrote male. So everything got confused, and now I just feel like a complete loser. I wish I could go to sleep now, but the girls are up, the dogs are up, and sleep just is not in the agenda.

We advertised the puppies too early, we just wanted to make sure the puppies had homes. I have been inundated with puppy emails. . .everyone wants the chocolate puppy. Both yellows are spoken for, a black male is going to streak ‘o lean, and a black female is going to someone else. The chocolate puppy has a very firm potential owner. So if my math is correct, I only have two black chunkers left.

The idea, of first come with a deposit, first serve has now come into play. Unless I have the deposit, I will not be holding the puppies, I had absolutely no idea that there would be such an outpouring of interest for Labroterds.

I wanted to wait until they were ready to be picked up before taking any money yet I really do not want people at my door with pitchforks and flaming wood screaming at me that I did not hold their puppy for them just based on a flighty email. So the proof will be in the deposits.

To anyone thinking of having puppies, it is worse than childbirth. The work is unbelievable, especially if you have a mother dog who thinks that you should sit at the end of her whelping box all day and feed her by hand. I had to spoon feed her canned pumpkin today because she has a case of the puddings. This is brought on by “stress”, and it was recommended. Her three meals a day consist of chicken stock, puppy kibble, and boiled ground beef, again hand fed, sans spoon. You have to change the bedding constantly, you have to supervise constantly (as so the dam does not sit on a pup), it’s a lot of sweat and mess. Not that I am begrudging it, personally I love the experience, and every puppy born, but, and the big but is that when it comes to communication right now, I have the capacity of a mollusk. That is the trade off. Maybe if I was an experienced breeder, maybe if I didn’t care and just left the puppies and the mother to fend for themselves in the tool shed, maybe it would be easier, maybe I could sleep and just do it for the money. Which my costs just cover the whelping materials, the vet checks and the vaccinations. It wasn’t done for money.

Hopefully the pumpkin helps, because I am absolutely brain dead with three hours of sleep and two pots of coffee. I look like a crack head, no shower, no makeup, nada, “not a finger”. I am not even going to try to be remotely coherent today. A cuppa tea is waiting for me, and probably some hate mail.

Okay, no, I am not in bed yet. I am too angst about four incorrect mass emails.

My day started on a really bad note. I had a horrible nightmare, and Adam was lucky that he wasn’t hurt. Thank heavens I wasn’t thrashing around or sleep walking at the time of the dream. It was so bad I will not even repeat it here. Let’s just say my Freudian Ego needs some help. Or it could have been all the 1970’s fluorescent shrimp dip I ate prior to retiring last night. The dream was violent, involved extra large chiabata bread which was flung, a love triangle and violence. I won.