Next Step: Babies

Meet Koufax.

My new Golden Retriever pup is 12 weeks old and shares a name with maybe the greatest pitcher in the history of the game.

Pooch gives new meaning to the term "southpaw."

A few weeks back the wife and I pondered adoption. Ashlee's normally a cat person, but after a few too many, too cute doggies in the window, I had her puppy-crazed.

We considered puggles, Australian shepherds and Siberian huskies before finding a Golden breeding family straight out of the Arkansas Traveler legend. While the family seemed a bit suspect, we were sold when we met the unnamed pup you see here.

Koufax had a brother, but he seemed a bit too rambunctious; this family doesn't do rambunctious. Koufax was the one, and we plumbed the depths of our minds to come up with a proper name. Some selections:

• Sebastian (too long)
• Judge Holden (Judge for short? No)
• Dodger (too obvious)
• Gibson (awesome, but also the name of my deceased dwarf hamster)
• Rooney (probably option No. 2)
  
• Hannibal Barca (would have been awesome if I had come up with it before right now)

The first night Koufax stayed in our laundry room. We woke up Sunday morning to the fresh smell of puppy fudge all over our tile. It seems he skated on it all night. I got the scent out using Ashlee and bleach. Incidentally, this was puppy's last night inside.

That day we bought a portable kennel. Dog trainers laud the use of crates to train dogs where to and where not to make dog water and fudge. While it's seemingly cruel to leave a puppy cooped up for hours at a time, puppy books assured me I was doing well by him. The idea is to allow the pooch just enough room in his crate to turn around and lie down. Puppies do not like to eliminate where they sleep, so puppies learn to wait for greener pastures to foul than their "den," which is the role the crate fills. We've had some accidents along the way, but Koufax is getting much better at holding in his elimination until he hits grass. Fortunately for Ash and I, Koufax suffers a bit from gender identity; he pees like a chick (no hiking). I think he realizes he's not doing it right. He gets into a lunge position to do business and looks at me with his head cocked, mouth open as if to say "I really have no idea what I'm doing here." You're saving my walls and tires, buddy.

Today was a rough one for Koufax. As Ashlee readied for a marketing field trip, she let Koufax fool around in the garage out of his crate. He nibbled some breakfast, peed some floor and squeezed some toy. Sometime during his adventures, he stood against a storage tub and pulled down his good-boy treats. Petco (for those of you without) offers sundry treats for dogs near the front of its store. Last time we were there we bought him about half a pound to use as we taught him some tricks (sit is pretty tricky, right?). This morning at 7:55 there were roughly 30 treats left in the bag. At 8 a.m. there were none. At Noon-30 today, they were back at the bottom Koufax's crate floor, surrounded by a brownish lake of puppy purge. I let him out his crate immediately and he hobbled over to the grass for an odd pee/toss combination. He proceeded to throw about eight to 10 more times before I could corral him in my Jeep and race to the vet.

They called an hour ago to say his vomit is no longer proceeding north, but is now headed south (and how). She recommended boarding him tonight. He'll feel better in the morning, then it's time for more inoculations. In the meantime I'll be scouring the Beauchamp Estate grounds for puppy muffins.

Wish us luck.