Et tu, Brute?

Meet Brutus.

The newest and smallest member of this Bell clan. He is quite the charmer; warming hearts and moving mountains with his wrinkly little face. He's a Stafford Shire Bull Terrier. He is deliciously cute. He is also my own personal Ides of March. This week he arrived from a different state with his brother Jet. Bru is Pea's early 5th birthday present and she's over the moon with him. However, I'm having a harder time. We all know I love a good metaphor. In this one I am Julius Caesar assuming all of Rome bends to my every wish. Power is the great destroyer, is it not? On March 15th 44 BC, Caesar was attacked in his place of leadership by all his senators. Even his BFF Brutus. Whom, it is foretold, cracked Caesar's cool exterior and he broke in to pieces accepting his fate. Don't think any of that is lost on me. It's not. My Brutus is peeing and pooping on my carpets, chewing on strung out barbies, and currently whining right now downstairs. Men. Really, it's not all that bad, in truth we're starting to have success with peeing outside and he seems to have taken to me, which I find ironic in the highest order since I'm the MOST annoyed with his potty mishaps. In my last metaphor I was Jafar. Why am I always the fascist male dictator? I might need a therapist. That being said, I am learning that, at times, control needs to be ripped away from you to realize what a strong grip it actually has ON you. And so. Brutus, as you sleep on my lap (I couldn't stand the whining a minute longer) I accept you and change, and your immense cuteness into my life (and carpets). Welcome home, little guy.