Well, that was successful.

I lasted a day. A day of BEDA. After missing the first day.
My life is a constant success story.
So now we're changing things up; from this moment on, this will be known as BLoDiA. Blog Lots of Days in April. Which is objectively a terrible name but we're rolling with it because I'm already doing so appallingly.
I redesigned my blog. P. cool, huh?
I'm trying to find a new photo to replace the skulls (though I do like the skulls), but I can't find anything except many, many pictures of my face. I was considering making you a side-bar collage of my face in various locations but like, I feel like that might be bordering on obsessively self-involved and creepy?

Anyway, I was hoping to have a story to tell you. I don't.
Ah! Thank you, boyfriend!

I shall blog about my puppy.
Artemis is like, I wanna say 8 months old? She is a Kelpie, mostly, and we got her from puppy foster care. There's a picture of her a couple of posts back.
She is super playful. She would play non-stop if she could, and tries pretty hard to most of the time.
When we first got her, she liked tug-of-war but we made the mistake many puppy owners (including ourselves, with our previous puppy) have made before us: teaching her fetch.
If there's something else Arty likes to do other than fetch, I don't know about it. And neither does she.
It doesn't matter whether you're watching TV, eating breakfast, in the shower, sleeping. You are expected to throw the ball/rope/squeaky toy immediately. I have woken up with slobbery tennis balls in my bed. Sexahhhhh.
As anyone who has tried to train a puppy to fetch may have noticed, they're not particularly adept at dropping the ball. But we taught Arty that when we say "mine", she's to drop the toy or let go of the rope if we're playing tug-of-war. She's super good at this, because she is smart and lovely.
She also jumps to catch the toy. She did a full flip the other night, long ways. She's so dedicated to catching it, and so excited to play, that when you're about to throw it, her back legs quiver in excitement.
She cries when we leave. She cries and howls and barks and is so sad. It breaks my heart, to the point where often I won't go out on the weekends, if it means leaving her alone, because I can't stand to listen to her cry as I close the door behind me.
She is so happy when we come home. Her ears go flat against her head (which they do whenever she's really happy or contrite) and she jumps up on you and prances around, entirely stoked that you're home. Her prancing is hilarious.
She howls at sirens.
Her best doggy friend is Ben's dog Meg. They've got to the point now where they recognise each other's name. Like, if I say "Meg" at home and Arty hears, she'll drop her toy, look at me excitedly, then run to the front door. When we get to the door of Meg's house, Arty is so excited not just her tails wags - her whole back half wags. Then we let her off the leash and Arty runs inside and Meg spares a lick for my hand before chasing after Arty into the backyard where they'll chase each other around for hours. We can even get them to tug-of-war with each other. Also, despite both of them being girls, and both being desexed, Meg tried to hump Arty once, so that was pretty funny.
We're trying to get Arty to be a bit more cuddly, and it's working - though most people don't get to see it. Around too many people, she's just way too excited. But in the mornings and evening in particular, when she's really sleepy, you can sit with her for ages cuddling. As long as you let her lick your hands (face) while you do.
She sleeps inside.
Heaps of people seem to think Artemis is a bad name. It's not, don't worry.
That's my dog.