I have an Aunt that comes to visit monthly when I’m in town. She’s an intelligent woman, a nurse filled with compassion for all people even those she disagrees with. It is with trepidation that I type this blog seeing as that she is the only aunt I have that is computer savvy enough to find me here. But it is here where I must confess. I don’t like her dog. I don’t like Ian.
My disdain for Ian is not unearned. You must understand she CANNOT travel without him. When she comes to visit the dog follows her into the house, OR any house for that matter. Allergies, house rules be damned. He barks, bites, drools, poops and pees wherever he sees fit. The only condolences offered to the host are “ooo the baby made a poop poop.” My mom corrects her by saying, “the baby didn’t do shit, that fleabag pissed in my floor.”
Aunt: “He’s just a baby.”
MOM: “No he’s not, he’s 78 in dog years. I HAD two babies. THEY could not be put outside. The dog can.”
Aunt: “It’s cold out there.
MOM: “ That’s what fur is made for. Take him outside, before he becomes the next new thing in mountain fashion.”
I was going to call this blog I don’t like dogs. But that’s not true. I do like dogs (I just like other people and my stuff more).
I like them at their owner’s house and at the pet store. The responsibility of getting one means early morning wake ups for walks, missed lunches to let Muffins pee, and the sacrifice of perfectly good running shoes. Not to mention being on constant alert for such deadly articles as bottle caps or J. Lo rings that the dog may swallow.
There’s this movie called “28 Days” (not a TNT Classic, but pretty funny), where they guy asked when it’s okay to start dating again (after leaving rehab) and the response is: Buy yourself a plant and take care of it for 6 weeks, if it lives get a dog.
I’m not ready for a dog. All my plants are dead. EEP!
9 comments:
This blog is dedicated to G or anyone whose been saddled with responsibility they weren't ready for.
It'll get better, and if it doesn't give it to your mom.
That's what I did with Valentine.
Oh god. That's not even an option with this pup, as it has been in the past with various cats (which I've re-inherited, BTW). My mom was the only voice of reason when my sister and I were wrapped up in pre-puppy euphoria. We thought she was just being a party-pooper. "We're HAPPY about this!!!" We shouted her down.
Once the glow of Christmas had past, and I realized that I can no longer walk around the house barefoot without fear that I might step in some pee, I had a minor meltdown. I researched return-policies on puppies (there are none), and I experienced ridiculous crying jags.
Apparently I had "Puppy Blues", and now I know that Dr. Tom Cruise can fuck right off, because if I was that wrecked over a DOG, I can't imagine what it'd be like to get a human.
Granted, babies have on-board containment units for their poops & pees and don't have a taste for my only pair of heels that I've ever felt comfortable wearing...but the real issue is that I'm super selfish.
I think my breakdown stemmed from the thought that I was no longer FREE.
I know now that most of my worries were a tad overblown, and I really am warming up to the dog. She just better keep to her penchant for crapping in my sister's room or it's bottle cap casserole for her! KIDDING! Sort of. Seriously, am kidding.
Tom Cruise will need some medication when Katie spawns. Then I'll be looking for the televised I'm sorry to Brooke as well as any other women that have went through post pardem depression.
On a side note, former pet Valentine ( fish ) took his final swim through the sewers of Covington a few years ago. Despite my - at times - bad neglect, he did live to be an old ass fish in Beta terms. Other pets relegated to my mom mysteriously "ran away", such as kitten Belle or my old dog Chow.
You ladies crack me up....seriously, I'm sittin here at work dyin inside..Leslie, did your mom really say those things to your aunt? I think its funny that the dog's name is Ian...we had an Irish Setter named Ian, but we didn't pick it....he came pre-named.
It is true dear Henchio. My mom, with full Judy - face (*see OEF definitions) in tow, shattered all my Aunt's delusions about Ian (who was even given our family's last name) ..ahem Ian Garrett.
I think my aunt retaliated at that time by banning me and Larry from her house (which neither of us minded since I have yet to relieve myself in any relatives floor). She later realized that pups, peeps are not the same. It is as G says - about responsibility. And if Ian was a child I woulda had to call that supernanny on him.
Ian is one of those scottish dogs. I forgot the name, but he looks similiar to Lady's short black friend on lady in the tramp. He also reminds me of a certain pipe smoking fiend I met in NOVA 2 or 3 years ago.
Who smokes pipes anyways? It's 2006.
Holy cow what a type o.. I meant Lady AND the Tramp.
OOPS!
Jurmy's other aunt puts their dog in one of those baby-stroller things. Now THAT'S CRAZY.
But...I like the style of that doggie sketch. But the snout...does anyone else see it as phallic???
Jurmy's other aunt puts their dog in one of those baby-stroller things. Now THAT'S CRAZY.
But...I like the style of that doggie sketch. But the snout...does anyone else see it as phallic???
It was supposed to be holding a binky (but I guess i made it too dark) and it just looks like a ummmmmm..
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