Learning to live with Willie Nelson

This, reader, is Willie Nelson, the newest addition to our household. 

Just as I began to write this blog he sneaked upstairs and did a wee on the rug. I even told him I was writing this so he can't complain that I'm embarrassing him. He certainly had this naming-and-shaming coming.
On the bright side, now that he has relieved himself (in entirely the wrong place as usual) I don't have the fear that I need to keep a beady eye on him wherever he goes for a little while.
I'm on puppy duty today. It's a shame to miss the sunshine but we've opened all the windows, played ball games, tug-of-war games, had a small photoshoot, and even tested out his lead so we could at least pretend we could go for walkies. Unfortunately he doesn't like his lead so that game didn't last long. Not sure what will happen when he's allowed outside (1 week!!), but actually I expect him to be a bit afraid of it. He shook the first time he went into the kitchen, he'll probably have a small panic attack on venturing into far bigger, scarier territory.
I suppose it's fine though. I'm a bit ill still so this forced indoors/tea time is not bad thing.
Small break in writing here when I realise WN has disappeared and I search the house for him, finally finding him napping on my flatmate's jeans.
He shouldn't be napping. He kept everyone awake last night, crying in the kitchen. Remind me to apologise to the neighbours when I see them. So, except for a couple of hours when I wanted him to stop bothering me so I could read the paper, I've been trying to keep him awake. Well, serves him right doesn't it! Also, and more importantly, I'd like him to be tired tonight. So tired he doesn't need someone sat by his bed all night. So tired he doesn't bark. He's a Yorkshire Terrier: a breed not known for soothing vocal qualities.
Despite the weeing and barking, he's alright, is Willie. We're pals. Especially when he does exciting things like sit on command and master the stairs; or sweet things like lick your face if you whine like you are sad.
However, his arrival did signal a sort of life crisis for me. One that was probably not helped by a cough that has stopped me sleeping for any more than a couple of hours since Monday. There's nothing like exhaustion to blow everything out of proportion.
Let me explain puppies to you. PUPPIES ARE BABIES. Babies which are highly mobile, think biting is affectionate, can't wear nappies, and will never grow up. I'm still not entirely convinced I'm ready, even with two responsibility sharing flatmates, to be a parent.
The main reason for this is my life (hence my small personal crisis). It's not enviable. I get by. I don't love my job. I don't travel enough, dance enough, read enough, write enough, see my friends enough. The best thing about it was the fact I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, within reason. I had no ties.
Now I do, and his name is Willie Nelson. He makes me spend my evenings off in the house cleaning the carpet so I don't lose my deposit.
This, I'm sure will get better when he can leave the house and come out with me. Also, when the three of us organise our timetables better. We had to get 4 puppy-sitters this week. This will cost us a fortune in lasagne and pasta bake.
But Willie has also taught me something else: talking about your problems does not fix them. Controversial, I know. People are always telling me to discuss my feeling; tell people when they are being thoughtless or making me angry; be a grown up.
My evidence is this. Before getting Willie Nelson I twice told my flatmates I didn't think I wanted a dog and didn't think it was a good idea. That he was adorable and I already loved him, having seen him just once but I had the fear.
And the result: we got a dog and I have to accept him and learn to be fine with everything, just the same as if I had bottled up my feelings as usual.
Now, I don't want you all to go thinking I'm suffering terribly. It was my fault in the first place for thinking of these problems when we were basically already committed to getting a dog. We'd visited WN and family already. Flatmates just tried to calm me and assure me this was not the end of the world I feared.
And it's quite satisfying that I was right all along about the uselessness of discussion. I take back my Lent resolution to talk about my feelings. What a waste of time.
And to be fair the fact that I have a puppy, is softened by the fact I have a puppy to comfort me. So that's nice. He's trying to read now what I've said about him. We're bonding. He says he likes me best and he can't wait until we can go to the pub together.
Neither can I Willie Nelson, neither can I. Now I'm stuck with you, it's a good job I love you.

And that is what's called: making the best of it.