Toying around with a new addition

Guess what? We're having a girl.

No I'm not pregnant. But my family is welcoming a newcomer to the pack next week. She's a black, furry pomapoo with a white star on her chest. She looks like a tiny bear cub.

I couldn't be more excited.

Husband Irwin couldn't be less excited.

He's been against a new family addition for some time. Forever practical, he points out the added mess and expense. He's worried about our dog, Jake, who has become adjusted to life as the sole pampered pooch. He fears that if a cute, little puppy moves in, it will devastate our soft-hearted Lab forever.

And he points out the pain of puppydom. Everyone knows there's a biological reason for puppies to be so cute: Otherwise, their parents would throttle them. They chew. They dig. They have trouble listening. And they view the world - particularly the brand-new, cream-colored, wall-to-wall carpet in the living room - as their bathroom.

I remember the embarrassment from Jake's own puppyhood. With a Paris Hilton-esque radar, he would zone in on the most expensive shoes in the closet and destroy them. He ate half of our wedding banner, which had been designed for us by a good friend. He dug up flowers, chased the cat and made so many messes we called him a "Labrador Reliever."

When I took him to puppy kindergarten, he barked incessantly, pulled on his leash and spent all of his time wanting to play with his canine classmates. As other puppies sat perfectly still for long periods of time, Jake and an equally rambunctious Brittany Spaniel became the class delinquents. It was just a matter of time before they started cutting class and smoking rawhide in the parking lot.

Embarrassed, I dropped out. And Jake eventually settled down, becoming a sweet, reasonably well-behaved pet in the process.

But when I saw that tiny pomapoo, I conveniently forgot all this. It's like those mothers who say you forget the pain and hardship of childbirth. All I could see in that she was a precious baby, and I had to have her.

So now I've got a new mission. I must make Irwin love her. She will probably manage that herself, as she is adorable. But I'm worried she has a few marketing problems.

One is that she's a toy dog or, as Irwin calls them, a "cat that barks." Another is that she is a pomapoo, which is probably the least manly sounding breed you can imagine. My macho husband is as likely to take a rabbit-sized pomapoo for a walk as he is to buy me feminine hygiene products.

I briefly thought of trying to claim she was a Pomweiller or a Pit Pom, but decided she was too tiny to pull that off.

So now I've decided she needs an intimidating name. Like Cujo, Light. Or Gertie "The Fang" Pompadour.

Now I've found the perfect one.

Irwin, meet The Her-minator.

Tammy Swift writes a weekly column for The Forum. She can be reached at tsruse2001@yahoo.com