Kyndall (and her crate) accompanied us to a New Year’s Eve party last night. Even though we put the crate just a few steps from the crowd assembled in our friends’ kitchen, she was mad. She barked and barked, and of course we had forgotten to include a squirt bottle along with our potluck contributions. Steve finally sat on the crate. This satisfied her; the barking ceased. I failed to get a photograph of this (being otherwise preoccupied with the champagne and conversation). When we all sat down to eat, we moved the crate next to Steve’s chair and didn’t hear another peep from her.
Still, I couldn’t resist hauling her out of her slumber a few minutes before midnight to join us all for the ceremonial countdown in front of the TV screen. After the ball dropped and the human hugging wound down, Kyndall got New Year’s strokes from several puppy-lovers.
We don’t live far from the party house, but it was after 1 a.m. when we turned out the lights — a terrifyingly late hour for anyone with a baby in the house. We felt deeply grateful she didn’t wake us up at 3:30, but instead kept quiet until shortly after dawn.
She was ready to play, so we strolled her to the coffee shop and tried to console ourselves with the thought that it was only 13 hours or so until (our) bedtime.