Meet Hannah!


This is Beatrice Hannah. She was originally named Beatrice, but we kept calling her Hannah because she reminds us of our former neighbor, who is super cool and has a similar mohawk.

She’s a brabanter, which is a somewhat rare breed of chicken. We were lucky to find her (we got her at Wardle Feed) because she is the cutest, nicest chicken I’ve ever met. She really likes people and even “talks” to us. (Brabanters get great reviews on!)

Sylvia is the blurry chicken in the background. She’s a red star (also referred to as red sex link, the “sex link” part meaning you can tell the boys from the girls as soon as they hatch, which is great if you don’t want the risk of roosters). We already have another red star (Josephine), who’s super nice and a great layer of gigantic brown eggs. I didn’t mean to get a duplicate chicken, but the feed store had her labeled as “gold star” and it didn’t occur to me that red stars and gold stars are apparently the same thing. It’s cool, though, because they’re both great, and if you’re going to have two of anything, red/gold stars are the best ones to have.

I didn’t tell you about this new dog situation.


I follow a lost and found pets community on Facebook. This is a terrible idea, but I can’t stop.

Last year, when I was newly pregnant and very hormonal, someone posted a picture of a one-eyed miniature pinscher she found in the Colorado Springs area. She was going to take the dog to a shelter if nobody took him. I sat at my desk going back and forth and finally decided hey I could totally go get that dog right now and  it wouldn’t be the most terrible idea of all time. That was right before the person who found the dog posted that someone she knew was going to take the dog.

A few days later, someone nearby in Denver found a very sweet Chihuahua mix with giant ears. After unsuccessfully trying to find the dog’s people, she offered the dog for adoption. I responded but ended up being second in line, behind the family that ended up adopting the dog.

By this point I had developed an overwhelming need to save a dog. I didn’t discuss this with anyone in my family, because apparently I am a raging asshole.

I kept an eye out for other small dogs needing homes, hopeful that I could keep someone out of a shelter. Nothing came up. Then I took it to the next level by searching shelters, specifically kill shelters. Eventually I checked the shelter from which we adopted Coltrane. It turned out they had a dog who seemed ripe for saving: he was listed as a min pin mix, 9 years old. He’d been there for 2 months.

I drove out to Evans, Colorado by myself. It was a long enough drive that I had time to think about what I was doing, which was totally wrong, and I proceeded anyway. The dog and I met in a small room in the shelter. He completely ignored me and ran back and forth between the shelter employee and the door. After petting him for about an eighth of a second while he ate the treat I had to use to bribe him to get near me, I went to the front desk and filled out a bunch of paperwork so I could adopt this dog who had no interest in me whatsoever. I don’t know. What else do you do? See a dog at the shelter and say no, I’m not gonna adopt you. I mean, I’m sure normal people do that. But not me.

In the car on the way back to Denver the dog sat on my lap the whole time. He sneezed all over the car. I went to get Soren and was all hey, you’re never gonna guess what I have in the car. He probably guessed. I don’t remember. I was nervous about introducing the dog to Peaches and Sadie. I put him in the yard and opened the back door. It seemed okay and I said screw it and let Peaches and Sadie out. Everybody sniffed everybody and then they were like hey, this is cool and did their own things in the yard.

Then it really hit me that I had to tell Ben I just adopted a dog without even mentioning to him that I was interested in adopting a dog. This was super shitty of me! Don’t ever do something like this! I took the coward’s way out and did it by text. “There’s a surprise for you.” “What?” “It’s a surprise!” “What?” “You’ll see!” ” . . . ” “Awesome surprise!” “It better not have feet.”

Nobody had been that mad at me since the time in middle school I told the bus driver to fuck off, my parents got called, and I “ran away,” which involved applying gobs of eyeliner in an attempt to change my appearance and hanging out at a friend’s house while my parents didn’t know where I was. And I had no defense. I was shitty! Super shitty!

And so I resided in the metaphorical doghouse for a few days. I offered to return the dog but I don’t live with monsters so we all knew that wasn’t going to happen. I smuggled in a new family member and it turned okay, after I promised to never do something so obnoxious and inconsiderate again.

And as it turns out, he’s not a min pin mix. He’s all min pin, all the time. And he’s not 9 years old. Our vet guessed maybe 4. He just has terrible teeth, as min pins are wont to do. I kind of feel like we won the dog lottery.

We named him Dixon, after Kenny Dixon, Jr., AKA Moodyman. And now I get to snuggle with two min pins, which is the greatest thing, ever.


It didn’t take long for me to find the exact dog I wanted — a male min pin or min-pin-like dog — at a shelter. If you’re looking for a specific type of dog, even if it’s not one that’s super common, please check your area shelters and online lost and found resources where found animals might be looking for new homes.