The Christmas Eve That We Found Out That Satchel Is Indeed Part Dog

This year we decided to do genetic testing to find out more about Satchel's mother and father. We have several reasons for being curious, first because of the way she looks, but also because she was found homeless on the streets of Miami at only six weeks old. So even though I was afraid we'd uncover that she was the bastard spawn of a South Beach hooker, we decided to go forward with the test, anyway, since she wasn't conceived during the months that Jersey Shore was filmed down here and I'm guessing that means that we're safe. Right?

We've had lots of guesses when it comes to her breed, Sheepdog to Schnauzer to Labrador, but over the last few months the two thousand dollar Golden Doodles in our neighborhood convinced us that she was a designer dog, too.

Perhaps the worst part of that explanation was that we expected her to act exactly the same as her Tiffany collared counterparts, you know, chest thrown out, hair perfectly coifed, no slobbering in the bed. And, LET ME TELL YOU, there is no disappointment greater on earth than waiting for your puppy to tilt her head on cue for strangers as she projectile diarrheas on their shoes.

You can take Jenny from the block, but there's no taking the block from Jenny.

So. I'm not sure if I should have been at all surprised when we found out that one of her parents is full blown mutt while the other is Polish and these two.

I'VE NEVER EVEN HEARD OF A BRITTANY OR A SWEDISH VALLHUND although I may have suspected the Polish part. She could have been a hundred different breeds that I actually know about, ones that I can pronounce, but instead she's the spawn of a pantie-less pink wig and a Swedish Val something or other.

I hid the results from her on purpose and plan on telling her that she's the daughter of Jesus and Stevie Nicks conceived one risque evening on the top floor of the Delano.

She's blonde and crazy, so I don't think this will confuse her.