No, she doesn’t have a name.

Nothing formal anyway…so far it’s been “here puppy”, “good puppy”, “cut that out puppy!”

I get that she needs a name.

I’d prefer to giver her a Korean name – something strong, but feminine.

But naming her means claiming her.

It means giving up the hope to adopt the black dog.

It means accepting a life of heartache when the black dog inevitably gets moved to another site.

It means taking on yet another responsibility in a life already full of responsibilities.

It means another little life to mold when I can’t seem to get my own life together.

It means long nights of “I’ve got to go pee” every few hours.

It means more dirt and mud and fur and drool.

It means I’ll have to explain again why brooms aren’t toys, why cats aren’t play-things & why for the love of God we don’t chew on Daddy’s boots.

It means when I go to Yongsan soon for an MRI & Neurology consult I’ll have to leave behind two sets of chew toys to keep idle paws preoccupied.

It means….

It means….

It means….

It means….at the moment….I’m a bad mommy.