So this morning I had to take Brokaw to the vet for some regular puppy business and I'm pretty sure they pumped his veins with a big dose of "bad dog." Seriously, he was jetting around my house all day. He never slept. He doesn't sleep with me all day, but he usually cuddles in the afternoon. Well, no. Not today. He was chasing the cat. Barking at his toys. Waking me up every half hour to go outside. And not to go to the bathroom, no because that would make too much sense. He wanted to go outside so he could bring in a giant icecicle and make a wet spot on the carpet. I even tried moving downstairs and sleeping on the couch and letting Katy have my room so she could have some peace. That's when Mr. Beckham really busted out the serious soccer moves. Up and down the steps. In between the legs. Then he got the ball stuck under the TV cabinet and you'd think the Governor had declared a State of Emergency, called in a search party and FEMA, the way this dog was acting about his ball being stuck. I woke up AGAIN got on all fours, rescued the ball, then of course, he didn't want it anymore. I am thinking if this is just a glimpse of what life is like with a small child -- I am so not ready it's not even funny.