It's no secret that Mr. Husband has a soft spot for animals. When I first started dating him, he had an iguana named Chuck and a cat named George (why yes, he is good at naming pets). All he ever talked about was how he would eventually have a Bulldog. Getting a Bulldog was, for a long time, his biggest dream. I think it's pretty well documented that I am not a fan of the smelly, noisey things. I mean, I love Meg, but I don't exactly like her most days.

The road to his dream was a long one. Early on, money was the deciding factor for why he didn't have one. They aren't exactly the cheapest of pups, and Airmen do not walk around with a few thousand dollars to spend on a dog. After he got out of the Air Force, he went to college. College students also do not have a few thousand dollars lying around. All through the broke days, I reveled in the knowledge that I was safe from the attack of the Bulldog.

The drawback from having a dream that was truly not attainable at the time was that he tried to fill the alleged void with other animals. He spent his first thirty years dreaming of that dog. He also spent his first thirty years dragging assorted critters home. As a kid, his mom limited him to the occassional rodent. Once he moved out, he moved on to bigger things. Oh, there were still the occasional Guinea pigs and hamsters to be found, but it wasn't until he was under his own roof that he brought on the reptile phase.

I was not a fan of the reptile phase. There have been three iguanas (Chuck, Norm, and Lou) and a Chameleon (Ernie) under our roof at some time or another. The last of the lizards finally died this past summer. One of the happiest days of my life was when I saw that iguana cage finally make the trek to the trash, signaling the end of the era.

In the midst of the reptile phase was a brief hedgehog phase. Grommit was his name, and he was essentially a prickly Guinea Pig. Looking back at it, Grommit was the closest thing to a bulldog that we've had, other than Meg. He was a lot smaller than the Bully baby, but the prickles meant he was sitting wherever he wanted to sit no matter what we tried to say about it, he grunted CONSTANTLY, he ate all sorts of random and weird things, and the cats avoided him just as much as the avoid Meg now. I don't think anyone shed any tears when he died.

After college, it became clear that all the small critters were doing nothing to temper the desire for a Bulldog. Mr. Husband had three cats to entertain himself with, all his other small creatures, and yet he was still left wanting. So he began his full court press for his dog. That led to Jasmine. I'm sure you're thinking that a Lhasa Apso is the furthest thing from a Bulldog, and in some ways, you're right. But Lhasas are very cool dogs in that they behave like big dogs, but don't eat big dog quantities of food or take up big dog space.

The short story of how Jasmine managed to come home with us was that Mr. Husband and I had a GINORMOUS fight in a pet store when he tried so hard to get me to let him buy a Bulldog puppy there that we actually ended up in a screaming fight in the middle of the store. It was the kind of fight where everyone in the vicinity stops what they are doing to stare. Why yes, we are some classy people, yes we are. Anyway, later that day I was still fuming, he was still pushing, and we walked past a poofy little baby Lhasa Apso. I said something to the effect of, "The only kind of dog you're getting is one of those things." And so it was.

It took another few years before I finally caved to Mr. Husband's Bulldog passion. I don't know if that means he's more stubborn than me, or if it's just a matter of me finally running out of excuses. I will say that if he thinks he's getting another one when Meg passes away, you might want to make your reservations for the fight. It's going to be a good one, I'm sure. Especially since I strongly suspect this one will be taking his side in the fight:

I'm screwed, aren't I?