Welcome Home, Jasmine: Life with Puppy Number Three

A year ago, I thought my heart might never feel whole again. Losing your very first dog—that special soul who teaches you what unconditional love really means—leaves a hollow ache that seems impossible to fill. But here I am, sitting with puppy hair somehow already embedded in my morning coffee, wondering how I forgot that puppies are basically furry tornadoes with commitment issues.

Meet Jasmine—though let's be honest, she responds to "Jazzy" about 97% of the time, "Jazzy-Jazzy" when she's being extra adorable, and "JASMINE" when she's discovered something new and forbidden to chew. She's the beautiful chaos that resulted from an American Bully XL dad and an American Bully Micro mom, which sounds like the setup to a joke about opposites attracting but instead gave us this perfectly medium-sized bundle of brown and white mischief.

The Road Trip That Started It All

We drove all the way to Ohio to get her, because apparently I'm the type of person who will road trip for the right puppy. (Spoiler alert: I absolutely am.) The moment I saw those emerald green eyes—still the most stunning shade of green at six months old—I knew we were in trouble. The good kind of trouble, but trouble nonetheless.

The drive home was the easy part; this tiny baby slept and cuddled the entire ride home.

Selective Memory: A Survival Mechanism

Here's what I apparently blocked out from my previous puppy experiences: EVERYTHING. Seriously, how did I forget that puppies are tiny, adorable terrorists who operate on a schedule that makes zero sense to anyone over the age of four months?

Take potty training, for instance. Jazzy has mastered the art of the fake-out. She'll sit by the door like the world's most polite angel, I'll rush her outside, she'll sniff around for approximately seventeen minutes, find nothing worthy of her attention, and then promptly squat in the middle of my kitchen the moment we're back inside. It's like she's conducting some sort of psychological experiment on human patience levels.

Learning from Experience (Sort Of)

This being puppy number three, we thought we'd gotten smarter. We hung a little bell by the door—brilliant, right? Ring the bell, go outside, potty training success! What could go wrong?

Well, turns out Jazzy is too smart for her own good. She figured out the bell equation pretty quickly: Bell = Outside = Fun! What followed was a constant symphony of bell ringing that would make Pavlov weep. Ring ring ring, all day long. She turned our house into a one-dog percussion ensemble.

Mom and Dad had to stage an intervention. Now when Jazzy rings that bell, it's straight outside on a leash, business only, and right back in once she's done. No sniffing every blade of grass, no extended meet-and-greets with passing butterflies. Just potty and back to reality. She's slowly learning that the bell is for bathroom emergencies, not entertainment requests.

The Separation Anxiety That Wasn't

Here's where we got lucky—we learned from our American Pit Bull Terrier's experience with separation anxiety. With Jazzy, we made sure she stayed with her litter and mom longer before coming home. The extra time with her family seems to have paid off big time. No destructive anxiety episodes, no howling concerts when we leave, no desperate scratching at doors. It's amazing what those extra few weeks with mom can do for a puppy.

The Mouth That (Surprisingly) Behaves

Now here's where we might have actually gotten smarter this round. The mouthing? Oh yes, that's still happening. Everything is a potential chew toy according to Jazzy—she's like a tiny shark with absolutely no understanding of personal space, and I've started referring to my husband’s arms as "Jazzy's teething rings."

But here's the miracle: she's not destroying anything in the house. Not one shoe, not one couch leg, not even a stray sock has fallen victim to her teeth. Have we finally cracked the code, or did we just get lucky with a less destructive pup?

I'm going to give ourselves some credit here. This time around, we came prepared with chew toys galore. I mean GALORE. Our living room looks like a pet store exploded, and honestly? I'm not even mad about it. But the real game-changer has been making soup bones for her. These things have been an absolute lifesaver!

There's something deeply satisfying about watching Jazzy completely zone out with a good soup bone, gnawing away in pure contentment while my furniture remains blissfully untouched. Those bones have probably saved my sanity and definitely saved my belongings. Who knew the secret to a well-behaved puppy was keeping her mouth productively occupied?

The Yard: Nature's All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

Speaking of outside time, Jazzy has apparently decided that our yard is her personal all-you-can-eat buffet. Grass? Delicious. Mud? Five-star cuisine. Leaves? Gourmet snacks. I'm starting to think she believes she's part goat.

I'll let her out for a simple potty break, and within seconds she's grazing like a tiny, brown-and-white cow. She'll sample a bit of grass here, a chunk of dirt there, maybe finish it off with a nice crispy leaf for dessert. Meanwhile, I'm standing there wondering if I should invest in a salad bar for the backyard.

Actually, scratch that—she's already discovered our garden. What started as innocent dirt sampling quickly escalated when Jazzy realized she could launch herself in and out of our garden beds like some kind of furry parkour athlete. Picture this: we're out there preparing this year's garden, and suddenly there's a brown and white blur hurdling over our carefully planned rows, treating our future tomatoes like her personal obstacle course.

The zoomies hit, and our garden became her racetrack. Sprint around the yard, vault into the garden, sample some premium dirt, leap back out, repeat. On hot days, she discovered the freshly tilled soil makes the perfect cool napping spot. I have the photographic evidence—Jazzy sprawled out .

So now our garden has a fence around it. Not to keep out rabbits or deer, but to protect our vegetables from one determined puppy who thinks "garden bed" is just another term for "Jazzy's personal playground and snack bar."

Those Green Eyes, Though

But then—THEN—she'll curl up next to me, those incredible green eyes getting heavy with sleep, and she'll let out this tiny puppy sigh that somehow contains all the contentment in the world. And suddenly the 3 AM potty breaks and the fact that I now speak primarily in a high-pitched "puppy voice" all fade away.

She'll rest her little head on my lap, and I remember why we make room in our hearts for these four-legged chaos agents. It's not despite the work—it's because of the love that makes all the work worthwhile.

Growing Into Her Paws

At six months old, Jazzy is finding her place in our little pack. She's learning that the other dogs have their own boundaries (some more patiently explained than others), and she's starting to understand that "sit" is not just a suggestion, especially when treats are involved.

Those beautiful green eyes that captured my heart in Ohio still stop me in my tracks daily. They're filled with mischief, curiosity, and an intelligence that probably means I'm in for even more creative destruction as she figures out the world.

The Heart Grows

They say the heart has an infinite capacity for love, and adding Jazzy to our family has proven that beautifully true. She hasn't replaced the memory of my first dog—nothing ever could. Instead, she's carved out her own special place, filled with puppy breath kisses, midnight zoomies, and the particular brand of chaos that only a young American Bully mix can provide.

Sure, I forgot how exhausting puppies are. I forgot about the constant vigilance, the puppy-proofing that never seems adequate, and the way they can turn a peaceful afternoon into a whirlwind of energy and excitement.

But I also forgot about the pure joy of watching a puppy discover the world. The way they find magic in empty cardboard boxes, the hilarious way they bark at their own reflection, and how they can make you laugh even during their most energetic moments.

Welcome home, Jazzy. Our house is definitely louder, significantly more chaotic, and infinitely more loved with you in it.

Looking Ahead: The Next Six Months

As I write this, Jazzy is already 49 pounds at just six months old, and I can't help but wonder what December will bring. Will she be a gentle giant or just... well, giant? With her American Bully XL and Micro mix genetics, we're in for a surprise either way.

We're planning to start full training once she's healed from getting spayed, and honestly, I'm both excited and terrified about what formal training will reveal about her personality.

But if I'm being completely honest, there's one thing I'm looking forward to more than anything else: the magical day when I can call "Come!" while she's outside, and she actually—wait for it—listens. Right now, calling Jazzy while she's in the yard is like shouting into the void. She'll look at me with those gorgeous green eyes as if to say, "I hear you, but have you SEEN this interesting stick?"

The day she comes running when called will be a victory worth celebrating. Until then, I'll keep dreaming of that moment while watching my beautiful, stubborn, 49-pound bundle of joy pretend she doesn't know her own name when there's a butterfly to chase.

Here's to the next six months of growth, training, and hopefully a few more victories in the "listening to mom and dad" department. Whatever size she ends up, whatever challenges lie ahead, I know those incredible green eyes will keep melting my heart every single day.