The dogs' misbehavior and Ethan's frequent public nudity are going to be a real headache once the press arrives

I'm convinced our dogs are trying to kill us.

In college, Noah and I had a professor who frequently used the phrase, "I'm convinced." I realized that he preferred it to "I think" or "I know" or "I believe" because those are subjective; being "convinced" of something implies objective circumstances existing that prove a point otherwise irrational or illogical to the reformed unbeliever.

So let me say again, I'm convinced our dogs are trying to kill us.

Not only has Bonnie regressed, but Cody has too. Saturday night, after she and Cody wrestled around on our (queen-size) bed (while we were in it), I'd had enough. Normally we wait until she's dropped off to dreamland to transition her to her kennel, but I was tired and she was getting on my nerves. So I put her in, and she began to cry. She hadn't done that since her second night with us. Eventually she stopped, and all was well. Until about 2:30 in the morning.

I'm convinced that blog posts I begin mentally composing at 2:30 in the morning seem funny at the time, but in waking reality are morbid and borderline psychotic. I giggled to myself as I told Noah, with true Queen of Hearts sentence-before-verdict callous fancy, "Go in there and chop off her head." There was also a real knee-slapper about dropping off into a dark abyss of loneliness and despair, but I can't quite remember the setup for that punchline.

Anyway, he let her out to drink and pee, and I'm pretty sure I heard some hiss-whispers through clenched teeth about "shutting it" and "quiet down, dog," etc. Of course Cody had to be calmed as well, because his favorite way of expressing concern for the welfare of others is through a skull-piercing whine and incessant pacing. Finally all was well. Until 6:30, a luxurious four hours later, when she woke up again. We let her and Cody run around the house together creating a ruckus (at least it wasn't on our bed this time), and in a display of gratitude she peed twice and pooped in the hall.

Puppies, not unlike babies, possess a devious quality in their infancy. "Cuddle me! Protect me!" they implore, sealing the deal with their adorably oversize heads and sweet, fresh-baked aromas. They sleep a lot, and their relative lack of mobility makes misplacing them almost impossible. Don't be fooled. They quickly gain enough independence to pursue a course toward world domination: Waking you at all hours, forcing you to wait on them hand and foot, dictating new and often unpredictable daily schedules, superhero-like speed with villainous intentions.

But then there's their adorably oversize heads and sweet, fresh-baked aromas to consider.

Mother Nature, you cruel minx.

P.S. I was finally on the radio this morning! In case you forgot, here's a refresher on my experience with our local NPR station. You can hear my broadcast by clicking here, then click on "listen." Don't be shocked by Noah's pseudonym; he preferred me to use his middle name, seeing as fame and recognition are imminent. I just hope the paparazzi aren't already waiting outside; my next haircut isn't until tomorrow.