What do you get when you mix together an ADD husband with a penchant for impulse-buying, a four-pack of pet-deprived children, and a worn-down moi? A dog! A gosh, darn dog.
I swear I don’t know how it happened. I’ve successfully resisted canine ownership now for sixteen-plus years. (As mentioned previously, I am NOT a pet person, particularly dogs. My first puppy Muffin ran away after three days, a golden retriever mauled my younger sister when I was eight, and another sister’s Doberman pincher enjoyed shredding my personal undergarments while I was growing up. Doo suggests counseling.) The lizards bought me some time, and when Santa brought the cat I thought I was home free. But no-ooooo! Adamant opposition on my part could not withstand the brutal erosive forces of my family’s perennial hopes of buying a dog. In my defense, they caught me at a weak moment.
I’ve been leaning towards a puppy for a while but had convinced Doo to wait until the spring. The weather would be more conducive to potty training and, frankly, it was still six months away. Then holiday shopping snagged me with her cold, gnarled hands. My girls are easy . . . clothes, accessories, a chocolate fountain . . . but what to get the boys? All they really want are Xbox games and gift cards to buy Xbox games. And I refuse to contribute to their “We’ll just live in the basement of our parent’s house ‘til we’re fifty” dream.” When I asked if there was anything else . . . anything . . . they both replied with a resounding “A dog!” Well, poo.
Then I remembered how cute it was when the kids awoke on December 25 of 2009 to find an adorable little kitten under the tree. Maybe I could actually do it! Thus, the crack in the dam. So I casually mention this stupid idea to Doo, and literally the next thing I know, I’m being swept away in a flood of lies and carefully orchestrated plans for obtaining the dog. No joke, less than twenty-four hours elapsed between my showing Doo an ad for Labrador retrievers and said Labrador retriever urinating in my car on the way home from Lizton. Mother Mary, what have I done?
I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I’ve subjected myself and my house to one year of puppy pee, puppy teething, and in general, good-for-nothing puppy antics. Dog-gone-it! Ah well, I suppose it was inevitable. When you love your family, sometimes you have to make sacrifices. Besides, they pretty much have to do whatever I say now because I’m the awesome, albeit pet-traumatized, mom who finally got them a dog. Peace out.