This Is Not an Emotional Breakdown – Blog #4

By: Squealexander Hamilton, Totally Not Getting Attached

 I Swear I’m Fine

Let me be clear.

I am not going soft.
I am not developing feelings.
And I am absolutely not becoming emotionally entangled with the puppies.

But hypothetically, if I were the type to form unexpected bonds with a pack of drooling, tail-wagging, house-peeing maniacs… I could see how it might happen.

Because lately, every time the puppies escape, I mean, are released from their play yard, and I happen to be out enjoying my freedom (and minding my own business, thank you very much)…
they run straight to me.
Every. Single. Time.

It’s not subtle. It’s not casual. It’s like I’m the headliner at a puppy fan convention.

They squeal. They wiggle. They cover me in what I assume are kisses (though one of them definitely licked my eyeball, unnecessarily). And then they do the unthinkable: They follow me. Everywhere.

Tiny Shadows and Unexpected Warm Fuzzies

If I walk to the shade tree…ten puppy shadows.

If I head toward the hay pile…. A parade of flopping paws behind me.

One time I tried to roll in the mud, and two of them joined me. Totally ruined the serenity.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Then I assumed they were hoping I’d drop snacks. But now I think they actually like me.
Like, idolize me.

Me. Squealexander Hamilton. Farm outcast. Blog lord. Reluctant father figure.

I wasn’t prepared for this!

  Farm Chaos: A Comedy in Ten Puppies

While two of my humans, the ones who claim to be in charge of the animals, are off gallivanting on some so-called “work trip,” I’ve been observing the great human struggle that is: Trying to take care of ten puppies without completely losing your mind.

Enter my favorite honorary piglet: Grandma Donna (yes, that’s her official title). She’s the farm sitter. She’s brave. She’s determined. She’s well… she means well.

But even she wasn’t ready.

The second the humans left, the puppies sensed the shift. And they took full advantage. Donna’s been trying to herd them like fluffy cattle while balancing kibble bowls, towels, and the occasional poop bag like some kind of circus act. Watching her stumble through them, arms flailing like she’s balancing on a unicycle in a puppy tornado… Glorious!

And then there’s Paul, my other dad, and Grandma Donna’s backup. He’s the man who can fix anything, anything at ALL….except a yard full of overly helpful puppies.

He shows up after work, bless his structure-loving heart, thinking he’s going to “tidy up” the dog yard. But the moment he bends down to scoop poop, all ten puppies rush in like it’s a group project.

I have never seen a grown man yell “NO!” and recoil so dramatically in my life.
Ten puppies. One OCD brain. No survivors.

For the Record, I Make It Look Easy

Now, I’ve been around long enough to notice something:

When my human mom, the rule enforcer, the master of good belly rubs, the one with an uncanny ability to multitask in muck boots (yes, I am talking about Krystin), is on the farm… Things do not fall apart like this.

She makes it look effortless. Puppies sit. Puppies stay. Puppies poop in designated areas (well… sort of). She’s like the Puppy Whisperer in a visor. It’s honestly kind of annoying how good she is at it.

So let the record show:
When chaos reigns, it’s not because the puppies are bad.
It’s because the humans aren’t her.

Also, I help.
I keep them in line. I am the gravitational center of this operation. The unsung hero. The mud-dusted glue holding it all together.

 The Hard Truth

So here’s the truth, just between us:

The puppies.
They might actually be… okay. Remember, this is between us!
Some of them are kind of brilliant. A few are hilarious. All of them are weird little creatures that, for some unexplainable reason, think I’m the best thing on this farm.

And maybe…just maybe…I’m starting to agree with them.

But don’t get too excited. I’m still going to grumble. I’m still going to pretend I don’t like the kisses. And I’m definitely still going to push for that Pig Appreciation Picnic!

Just… maybe with a few extra invites.

Snoutfully Yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton
Unwilling Role Model. Mud Mentor. Puppy Magnet.