Starting something

I was thinking about getting a dog.
A boxer perhaps. I would prefer a breed that had some real distinctive dog-like qualities. No Fifis, Ladys or some other nice-nice sounding frou-frou dogs need apply. I'm talking about a Spike from the cartoons kind of macho dog. I was tossing around the name Balthus. It's a artist's name, but has that chest-huffing sound to it. I imagine you could grunt, growl out the name Balthus then spit all macho-like in one combined motion.
On the fence
We were planning on putting up a fence this year. Mostly to contain the three-year-old, blonde headed boy that allows us to live at his house. A six-foot treated wood number should suffice to keep our neighbors from feeling overwhelmed with envy at the harmonious balance of areas of grass and those of things-not-grass that is our lawn.
A weight on my chest
My wife was in tears. I was semi-spawled on the couch enjoying a brief rest from the forementioned toddler playing with plastic super-hero figures on my head when she appeared. My first line of reason, "What have I done now?" After a quick mental check I was pretty sure that some dirty dishes and a load of clean but not yet folded laundry was not the cause of her discomfort. She was way beyond discomfort. Perhaps she had broken a toe on one of the dumbbells I had recently purchased. The fact that she had not dropped said dumbbell on my chest , but a small plastic stick-like thing ruled that type of injury out. On the plastic thing were two windows, each having a vertical line through them. Looking at the handy key located on the handle, I looked up at my wife and now knew why she was in tears. We are going to have another child.