One thing you should you know about me. Well, two things really.
I love my dogs. Adore, really. Really, really love and adore Lucy and Henry.
Henry and Lucy are long-haired miniature dachshunds, 2 and 3 years old respectively. When friends or family or colleagues or strangers wax poetic or complain about their babies, I can relate, because I immediately analagize to these furry children of mine. They chew on things, they do cute things, they can pee during inopportune times and places, they can barf unexpectedly, they’re loving, they’re annoying, they’re happy, they’re playful, they are an integral part of the architecture of my life. They’re family.
I missed my little guys during our honeymoon, and dog-obsessed lady that I am, took photos of every pooch that pulled at my heart strings.
In the whirlwind of this summer’s wedding, honeymoon, work travel, packing and moving, Henry and Lucy are staying with their grandparents in New Hampshire. Every day when I get home from work, my heart falls a little, knowing that there will not be two little faces waiting for me at the door. When I move to London, the dogs will live with the mister in Boston until I get the swing of things.