We had a teachable moment this morning.

I did not get Finnegan a crate because he was supposed to be potty trained. Why spend the money? But, as we now know, he is not potty trained. Other things the shelter missed — that he has all of his baby teeth and thus can not possibly be six months old, and that they really ought to move in to the 21st century and start micro-chipping animals instead of giving them ghetto ear tattoos.

Anyway, he’s not potty trained. I decided to put in the bathroom at night. I took out the rug, I laid down newspaper, I made it cozy, and I tucked him in.

You may not be aware, but my sister Megan has been crashing on my couch for the last two months, since she lost her job. Thanks, George Bush. I blame you for this. So, Megan decides she can’t sleep with Finnegan scratching at the bathroom door. She lets him out to sleep on the couch with her.

I wake up around 6AM to take Finn potty, to find he has escaped from his den. Megan explains why, through her sleepy mush-mouth. I take Finn out, I bring him back, and give him back to Megan, saying “This better not backfire.”

Cut to this morning, around 10:45. I have a lovely plan to shower and make myself a nice lunch before heading in to the office. I open my bedroom door, walk in to the hallway, and survey what can only be described as “damage.”

Megan is not a morning person. She needs at least two cups of coffee and a shower before she really wakes up and starts to grasp things going on around her. So I suspect she was quite startled when I very loudly woke her up this morning: “Megan!”

“Whatwhat!”

“It’s time to get up!”

“Why?”

“So that you can see why we don’t let puppies run around at night.”

He’d pooped; that was to be expected. He also had ransacked the bathroom trashcan and strewn its contents around the living room. He’d unfurled an entire roll of toilet paper. He chewed on the antenna of Megan’s cell phone. He’s gathered up all the cat toys he could find and used them to build a fort. Or something.

We cleaned up the mess, and I opted to shower instead of making lunch. My friend Erik has graciously offered me his puppy crate, but I can’t pick it up until Sunday or Monday. I’m pretty sure Finnegan will stay in the bathroom at night, though, without a possible jail-breaker.

And thank the baby Jesus for those Godless Chinese, or else I would starve to death on Christmas Day.

This is all Joe Biden’s fault.

On Saturday, I read a story on CNN about party poopers being angry at Joe Biden for buying a german shepherd puppy from a breeder (instead of rescuing a shelter dog). I wanted to see a picture of Biden’s new puppy, and the first image I found was on pet finder (click here if you want to see the cuteness). While at petfinder, I am utterly powerless and must look at puppies.

And I fell in love.

I found a beautiful little beagle/shepherd mix named Max, and by the end of Saturday, had determined to get him. However, my initial instinct was right — Max was far too cute to stay in a shelter. He was gone. In the meantime, looking at more puppies, there was another little guy trying to win my affections. On Sunday, Jackson and I drove down to West Virginia to meet him.

Finnegan (which was NOT his shelter name, because shelter names are DUMB) was said to be 6 months old and potty trained. He loves other dogs and likes to play with cats. He’d been brought to this shelter on Halloween, and no one had put in an application for him. This is a kill shelter, and his time was coming up. So on top of being adorable, he played on my heart strings. I put in an application, he got neutered, and this morning, I drove down and picked him up.

I don’t think he’s 6 months old — I think he’s more like 4 months old. He’s got a bit of growing in to his paws and tail yet to do. And he’s not potty trained. But, he’s beyond cute, and he’s saved, on Christmas Eve, no less. He’s my little Charlie Brown Christmas Puppy!

So, without further ado, meet the newest addition to my family: Finnegan.

Click here for more pics.

Merry Christmas!