My oldest son, Alex, recently adopted the puppy love of his life from the Dallas County ASPCA. HER name is J-Wit and SHE's named after the Dallas Cowboy player, Jason Witten. (Note to Alex's future wife - DO NOT LET THIS GUY NAME THE KIDS!!)

Since Alex's job involves some travel, he asked us if we'd keep Wit while he was out of town for two weeks.

Okay, no problem...we've already got two dogs, whose total combined weight equals THREE regular dogs, so we're already familiar with the territory, right? Uh, WRONG! It's been almost five years since we've had a puppy in the house, and I forgot just how very hectic and chaotic it can be. Something like a 24/7 version of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, with the added horror of your stuff either being shredded by little, sharp puppy teeth, or covered with little wet puppy puddles.

Our adventure started off with a bang - or make that a splash. Wit had been in our care for less than an hour when she fell/jumped into the deep end of our swimming pool.

It was COLD and had been raining non-stop for about three days so our 6 foot deep pool was more like 6 and a HALF feet deep. Very important difference to my husband Roger, who isn't a really strong swimmer and stands about 6 feet tall. As they say, the Devil is in the details - or in this case, she was dog paddling around the deep end of the pool.

That was the beginning of the Wit Rodeo and she took us through the barrels, let me tell you. I don't mean to sound like Jane Goodall, but it was very interesting to see the evolving dynamics of Canine Interaction in our house.

In no time, this little 18 pound drill sergeant had my two 80 pound Labs dancing to her tune. I learned that a Big Dog will do a whole lot of dancing to avoid those needle-sharp puppy teeth.

Walks were a different sort of challenge. I'm used to people staring at me as Layla and Dudley drag me from sniffing point A to sniffing point B. What I wasn't prepared for were the reactions of people seeing the four of us careening down the street, all three dogs on the same lead and Wit hanging off of Dudley's ear like a pirate's earring. More than one person stopped their car, rolled down their windows and asked me if I'd gotten a puppy. Only it was more like, "Tell me you DIDN'T get a PUPPY??"

Honestly? Having Wit here was WORK, and somebody should smack me if they ever hear me say the words, "I'm bored" again. But, even though it was a challenge to all four of us (me, Roger and the big dogs), it allowed me to see a side of Roger and the dogs I haven't seen.

Imagine a grown man, who isn't a swimmer, jumping into 50 degree water to save a puppy. Or two dogs, big enough to seriously injure a puppy, allowing that puppy to jump on them, wrap her paws around their heads and gnaw on their ears, while they patiently stand still and slowly wag their tails.

Wit wore us out, but I think having her here was good for us. At least that's what I keep telling Layla and Dudley. "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger", right?

I hope they believe me...Wit comes back tomorrow.

I don't know if it's really a gender thing or not, but in my opinion, some traits are inherently male and some are female. I'm not talking about traditional family roles. I know not all domestic chores fall into rigid categories; some men do the cooking and some women do the yardwork. I'm talking about the different traits and talents each gender possesses.

For example, I think women pay attention to details. You know, the little things that most men miss. I know in our family, I'm the one who's more likely to catch something that's just not quite right; and that talent, my friends, isn't always appreciated. Since the subtle things I notice tend to herald an upcoming MAJOR HOME REPAIR, I can understand Roger's feelings of dread when he hears the latest of my observations.

The bad smell in the den? Turns out it was a dead rat in the attic. The wet floorboard in the new car? A leaky a/c valve. Hot floor tiles and less hot water? Means another hot water leak.

Like it or not, it's my job to notice these subtle little things that signal Trouble in Paradise for the Proza family. I like to think I'm not alone in this...surely I'm not the only woman in the world who breaks the bad news of possible repairmen expense to her husband with the phrase, "Now, I know this is gonna tick you off, but..."

Our latest foray into home repair was in the form of another slab leak. Sound familiar? It should, that's our third leak this year, but who's counting? The plumber and our insurance company, I'd guess.

You know it's bad when you call your plumber, give your name, a brief description of the problem, and the first words out of his mouth are, "AGAIN? Where is it THIS TIME?" No need to consult the files - we're a household name around there - I'll bet we even made the Christmas Card list, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn there was a pool going about where the NEXT leak will show up. After all, SOMEBODY should be enjoying this, shouldn't they?

Two plumbers showed up at the house and began their search for our latest pipe failure. They were having trouble narrowing it down, until I told them about hearing a noise that sounded like running water in our master bath the other morning. (I just want to go on record here and say that I told Roger about the noise. He didn't hear it, of course, and couldn't find any sign of a leak. But, how hard do we think he looked?)

The plumbers, who obviously have wives who make astute observations, too, immediately began looking in the rear part of the house, mainly the patio room, and asked me for my help. Ha! At last - men who APPRECIATE the fine art of paying attention to detail.

Before long, the plumbers and I were crawling around on the floor, feeling for the warmest spot and listening for the leak with some high-tech plumbing equipment. Mainly, a stethoscope with plastic tubing attached to two high powered microphones, which were placed on the suspected leak area.

After several minutes, I told the plumbers where I thought the leak originated, they marked the spot with a piece of duct tape and the next day a crew came and jack hammered up the slab and repaired the leak.

Now, I don't mean to brag or drive home the point unnecessarily, but the leaky pipe? After jack hammering up the slab, the plumber reported the leak was within 3 inches of the place I'd told them it was.

Like it or not, SOME talents should be appreciated.

I think most people have a secret desire to be a different kind of person than the one they actually are. Me? I've always wanted to be a "Girly Girl". You know, the type everyone wants to shelter, protect and rescue? Someone who is always stylishly dressed with matching, tasteful accessories, gorgeous, trendy hairstyle, full make up and even lipstick; a delicate, dainty little thing who might get a case of the vapors if someone dealt with her a little too harshly.

If you actually know me, you're laughing hysterically right now. I am so NOT a Girly Girl and odds are I never will be, no matter how much I might think I want to. I've accepted the fact that I'm pretty much the opposite of the sterotypical Damsel in Distress, so I guess it shouldn't be a big surprise when my own flesh and blood occasionally thinks of me as a Stay At Home Rambo, or STAHMBO.

Alex called the other morning and asked me to run a special errand for him. Since I was already babysitting his three month old puppy, taking her out in the freezing cold rain for an UNLIMITED NUMBER of potty breaks, I kinda thought I was already in the plus column on his "Special Errands Needed" list. Apparently not, though, since he asked me to run to his house and check to make sure he had closed his garage door when he left for work.

Okay, no problem, I stuffed the Big Dogs, Layla and Dudley, in the car, grabbed Wit, the puppy, and away we went in the freezing cold rain. The Big Dogs assumed their usual positions for car rides: Dudley began snoring in the back and Layla surfed, standing right over my shoulder, occasionally wiping her nose in my hair. Wit got busy trying to chew anything she could get in her mouth, including the gear shift. Yeah, it was a fun ride.

I pulled up behind Alex's house and was relieved to see the garage door safely in the CLOSED position. I happily called him to give him the good news and he asked me if I was INSIDE the house? "Uh, no", I said, "the dogs and I are in the car, in the alley BEHIND your house, and the door's down...all safe and sound."

Then Alex informed me thieves routinely pull into an open, empty garage, close the garage door behind them, and proceed to loot and pillage to their heart's content with no threat of discovery. "I need you to go inside the house and make sure they're not inside, stealing my stuff."

Okay, now stop and think about this for just a minute. This 22 year old son of mine, the one who was born a FULL WEEK after his due date and caused me to be in labor for almost 20 hours. The one who, over the years, has put me through various trials and tribulations, such as: stitches in his upper lip after sword fighting with PVC pipe; falling in the Lagoon at Fair Park on a field trip; asthma and breathing treatments; scoliosis; and, six, count 'em SIX sets of ear tubes, just to name a few. THIS SON OF MINE wants his 48 year old MOTHER to go into his house and see if it is currently being raided by hardened, crazed, crack addicted thieves. No problem, I'll just yell "Yoo-Hoo" really loud before I enter so as to give them plenty of time to LOAD THEIR WEAPONS!

And, if you know me, you won't be surprised to learn that my response was a resigned, "Well, okay, I'll call you when I get inside". See? My family knows me well enough to know that not only am I NOT a Girly Girl...I don't even THINK about dealing with things in Girly Girl ways.

It never occurs to me NOT to climb the 6 ft. fence, or get in the elevator with the guy wearing the ski mask and carrying a rope. I don't think twice about standing in the way of the plumber's van when he tries to leave without first doing the job he was hired to do, or checking to see if the suspicious character in the alley is breaking into a neighbor's shed (he was).

No, I don't think at all...I just react, and such is NOT the way of the natural born Girly Girls of the world. That's okay, though. My family doesn't need a Girly Girl. They need me, their own personal STAHMBO. But, I better get flowers on Mother's Day, is all I'm saying.