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here should never be any question if I am a good mother. I bought a puppy for my sons—case closed. Buercup, or as my 10-year-old affectionately calls her on occasion, Bucup, is a Double Doodle: miniature Labradoodle/Goldendoodle Teddy Bear mi x . Needless to say, she's ridiculously cute, ver y bright and "excitable," to put it k indly. Suffice it to say, if they come out w ith A DHD medication for dogs, I' ll be the first in line. So far at six months she has reached many important milestones. She can give a high five, her favorite treats are blueberries and, for the most part, she is house trained... that is, if we remember to take her out or leave the back lanai door open for her to go outside to relieve herself. She has essentially turned my lanai into her own personal lier box. I suppose I shouldn't complain. I get to pick up poop nightly and pressure wash every weekend—more fun for Mommy! Will the excitement never end? But at si x months, I suppose it's a small price to pay for a poop-free house. Life is full of trade-offs, aer all. A nd at least she has chosen a specific spot: the ver y center of the lanai floor. Not off to the side or in a corner. Nope...ont and center. Poop patrol aside, the biggest complaint I have is her affinity for the finer things in life. She has apparently inherited the family curse of good taste. Yesterday I walked into my bedroom to find her comfortably nuzzled on my bed with my favorite pair of panties wrapped around her head and one of my most expensive designer shoes dangling from her mouth. I k now this act of coveting Mommy's things is a sign of deep affection, but I am not feeling it. I'm leaning toward something more ak in to blind rage. She has no interest in my granny panty collection from Target. No...she prefers La Perla. She also sauntered right by my vast array of flip-flops, choosing my classic Gucci pump instead. A lthough the po ying situation and her poor choice of chew toys have proven to be a challenge, the look in my sons' eyes when Buercup excitedly jumps up the moment they walk through the door makes it all worthwhile—at least for the moment. Should she extend her snack ing to include designer dresses or jewelr y, however, I can make no promises. But for now, Bucup (as I, too, have affectionately come to call her on occasion) is safe at home with the Gibsons. Happy Trails, THE LAST LAUGH Subscribe to GRAVITAS and visit us online at GravitasMag.com T The Buttercup Written by Jules Lewis Gibson | Illustration by Chelsea Bellrose Jules Lewis Gibson, Founder & President GR AVITAS Magazine Find me on Facebook at Facebook.com/SeasideJules 82 | GRAVITAS MAGAZINE GravitasMag.com

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