August 21, 2007

Life with Bella

So I have always been one of those people who have never wanted to have kids, and if you know me, you have been hearing me say this since I was, oh I don't know, 2? There is no part of me that wants to be pregnant, no part that wants to experience the horror majesty that is childbirth, no part that wants a baby of my own to hold and raise. I just don't have that desire. I have always said I will be a fantastic aunt. The fun one YOUR KIDS want to come hang out with. When they don't cry all the time. And when they're potty trained.

No, this post is not going to be about how I have suddenly changed my mind about all of that. This is about why I am angry that no one told me that a small dog was quite similar to everything I have heard about small children. Like I said, I have only been SAYING NO TO KIDS since I could talk...why would no one warn me about the dog?!

She barks at inappropriate times, cries when it is completely inconvenient for me, and pees EVERYWHERE. She has to poop 2.5 seconds after she is fed and will put anything on the floor in her mouth--dried worms on the pavement outside are a favorite--resulting in atomic diarrhea all over her kennel. She jumps up on us when we get home, scratches SK in the eyes (I still don’t know how she pulled that one off) and steps on him in places he would really rather she not step.

She is pretty damn cute, though, which is why I continue to give her second chances.

She can be smart—she knows how to sit on command, will wait without moving while we get her food from the bag to the bowl to the floor (although the amount of drool that spills out of her mouth and pools at her feet during this process is pretty disgusting), and is learning to be polite and not take treats from us until she is told to do so. She is finally going to the door regularly when she needs to go out, and will cry if we don’t notice her standing there. However, once she cries you would think someone threw a f’ing grenade into the apartment by how fast SK and I move to clip the leash on her, throw open the door and RUN her down the stairs. The cry means, “Ok jerks, I am standing here, I am letting you know that I have to go and now you have 3 seconds to get me to some grass or else I am going to empty my bladder RIGHT HERE on your rug.”

I love her. I do. And I have to tell myself that every morning when she greets me with her little puppy breath and lick to the face, right before she smiles up at me and pees on the carpet. Demon.

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