Happy Birthday, kids! You’re a week old today. You still don’t have names, because I am old fashioned and superstitious about naming puppies. I think it’s bad luck to give them call names before four weeks – a holdover from my Grandmother’s policy on naming dogs. So, for now you are ‘Boy’ and ‘Girl’, but it’s said with the utmost in affection and love.
Already, you show signs of individuality.
Girl, you’re a placid sleeper, preferring to be on your back, your fat little tummy basking in the glow of the heat lamp. Nursing, however, is a different story. You’re still restless and almost aggressive, insisting on finding your own nipple, dammit, without any help from me. So, I let you be, and you pick out the one you like, and latch on like a furious little leech. You get angry if the milk doesn’t flow quickly enough, rejecting at least two nipples before you find the one you like. You are growing by leaps and bounds, having gained a full 5.4 ounces in a week. Your coat is sleek and seal dark, with a few well spaced flecks of golden red. I love you for your determination, and your fighting nature.
My little Boy, you are sweet and steady and calm. You sleep curled in on yourself, preferring always to be tucked into your mother’s side. You nurse at whatever nipple I place you at, dropping off contentedly when you drift off to sleep. Your eyes are starting to open, just a tiny little bit, and you don’t complain when I pick you up to weigh you, unlike your screaming, furious sister. Your weight gain has been slower, although fairly steady. In a week, you’ve gained 3.5 ounces. You’re not just lighter than your sister, you’re smaller overall – shorter in body length, and more compact. You’re a lovely shade of silvery fawn, with a deep wide chest and adorable little white feet. Everytime I pick you up, I kiss you on the nose.
You’re both too young for cake, and I am, as I said, too superstitious to celebrate just one week of life, but I’ll drink a toast to you both this evening, and rub your little tummies before I tuck you in for bed. Logic might tell me not to get attached to you already, but hearts don’t always listen to logic, do they?
Pictures below the cut, or the full set is here.