This is Amanda and Lucy. Amanda is my wife — brilliant, beautiful, and somehow still willing to be married to someone who blogs about broken leaf blowers. Lucy is our dog — a small, fluffy, deeply self-assured creature who has decided that the couch belongs to her and we are merely tolerated guests.
Lucy came into our lives and immediately restructured the household hierarchy. She has opinions about when walks happen, strong feelings about which blanket is acceptable, and an uncanny ability to appear exactly where you're about to sit down. She is, objectively, a menace. We are completely obsessed with her.
Amanda's fault, in the best way
I want to be clear that the dog was Amanda's idea. I say this not to assign blame — there is no blame — but because credit needs to go where it belongs. Amanda saw Lucy, made a decision, and our lives got measurably better. This is a pattern I've noticed over the years. Amanda makes a call, I'm skeptical, it turns out she was right. The dog is just the most recent and most photogenic example.
The photo above is pretty representative of a regular evening at our place. Amanda on the chair, Lucy draped across her like a living scarf, both of them completely content. I took this from across the room and neither of them noticed. It's one of my favorite things to walk into.
Lucy is convinced she is a large dog in a small dog's body. She has never once backed down from a dog three times her size. She has also never successfully caught a squirrel, but that doesn't seem to affect her confidence at all.
I'm lucky. That's really the whole post. Two beautiful girls, a good couch, and a house that feels like home. Doesn't get better than that.