Never. Gonna. Happen.

That's what I told Hubby when he asked for a second dog. When he begged. When he pleaded. When he gave me a laundry list of reasons "why another dog is a good idea."

We already have a 4 year old Australian Blue Heeler/Border Collie mix. He's a stroke of luck dog we got at the local shelter shortly after Hubby and I got engaged. Dakota is the smartest, most well behaved dog I know. He follows all our house rules, listens to all voice commands, follows a few hand commands, doesn't jump or bark excessively and won't even snatch food off the floor unless I've given him the okay. He's amazing with both Toddler and Baby Girl and he's intelligent.

I cannot deal with high energy, hyper, loud, "stupid" dogs. The kind who bolt when they're not leashed, won't stop barking at squirrels and knock you over with their exuberance. The hyper kind who scuttle and rush under your feet that you end up tripping over. I didn't think any dog could ever live up to my perfect pet. And so I told Hubby he had no chance in hell of getting another dog until after Dakota dies (hopefully 12-15 years from now). And I told him consistently for over a year. 

For the longest time, Hubby kept asking for an English/American Bulldog Mix: super hyper, not very smart and clumsy, although very very loving. Perhaps perfect for some families, but not at all what I consider a great pet for our family's needs. Then Hubby stopped playing fair (and stopped thinking about solely what he wanted) and started looking for the perfect dog for what I wanted and what would work best for our family instead.

Powerful, protective, gentle, intelligent, great with young children, obedient, friendly, and well "trained" (when you put the work and effort in of course). Don't forget a watch dog, a deterrent to potential break-ins or harmful individuals. Sounds too good to be true, but Hubby managed to find a dog that fits ALL of these qualities. Unfortunately, that means I need to deal with excessive drooling, shedding and SIZE. 

Photo Credit

Yes. Somehow, my harebrained Hubby somehow talked me into getting a Saint Bernard Puppy. 

I'm in the whole nine yards. Potty training, obedience training, dominance training. Constant supervision to make sure the pup is getting the right amount of physical exertion without hurting his SUPER FAST growing bones... to be 100% consistent in training him and making sure I'm the dominant "bitch" of the house. 

3-5 groomings a week (which Hubby has SWORN he will be doing at least 3 of, I'll let you know if he keeps up that end of the bargain) and ALL THE POOP (again, something Hubby has SWORN to take care of weekly, I'll update how that goes as well). 

So, 7 hours in the car and a fair chunk of change later, we have ourselves a 15 lb, 7 wk old male St Bernard. And we named him Apollo. 

To be fair, he's absolutely adorable.

What on earth have I gotten myself into?