An unwritten prenuptial in my marriage involved getting a dog at some point. After two and a half years, we now have a dog. Say hello to Speak the Mighty. He’s a little over two months old, and is a Poodle/Pekinese mix. At this point he fits nicely in the palm of your hand, and is little more than a ball of fur. I’ve yet to hear him bark, though he whimpered quite a bit during the ride home.

True to the rules I set down about what kind of a dog we could get, Speak is not able to eat me. I don’t think there’s much he could eat. In fact, the stray cat we’ve seen around our house could definitely take Speak. If he doesn’t lick them to death.

And thus we’ve become dog owners. I hereby promise, before God and you readers, to never dress Speak in a dopey dog sweater or treat him as our first born. Yikes. What am I getting myself into?