A few years ago a friend of mine asked my opinion: should she and her family get a dog. She has 3 kids, we have the oldest in 5th grade right now, and her youngest is Greta's age. The oldest has wanted a dog for as long as she can remember. They are a busy family, because all of their large extended family lives about 30 minutes away from them and they see them almost everyday. I had no trouble telling her "NO!" do not get a dog. I love my dogs. They were our fur babies before the real ones came to us. I suppose they still are our fur babies, but just the neglected ones. We give them food, and walks, and try to remember to give them their scratches and rubs and hugs, but there are some days where if I have to snuggle, rub, kiss or hold one more living thing I might just explode. But that's just one part of dogs. There's no need to describe the happiness and fulfillment dogs can bring a life. Their unconditional love can clear up the most saddest of days, the liquid eyes can change a soul for ever if you let them. But then...
Dogs are also work. When I go for a walk by myself -- oh wait, that doesn't happen -- I don't carry around a Walmart bag specifically for the use of carrying something else's poop around.
Dogs do require attention - getting home late or being gone for long stretches requires an act of Congress to coordinate who is able to let the dogs outside before their bladder gives up and my couch is being mistaken for the nearest fire hydrant.
Dogs have to go to the doctor too. They require a lot of health maintenance. And they can't do chores to help out around the house to justify their cost. (I know, the wagging tail, the loving eyes, it's all supposed to make up for it. Read on please.)
Dogs get old, and you find yourself trying to anticipate their death, hoping you can just find them in the final sleep curled up in their favorite sleeping spot, in that eternal slumber, and that no bodily fluids are involved. And then you snap back to reality and remember that's not how it's going to happen.
Dogs get fleas. Your house gets fleas. And you find yourself spending the day feeling very much like a caveman, or a chimpanzee in the zoo as you pick flea after flea off of your dog...or your spouse...or your kids...or your floor. Because, once you get flea medicine that works on your dog (and cat...don't forget the cat) who are the fleas going to bite? Oh yes...you.
And then, when the thoughts or mortality, the bags of poop, the scratches, the kisses, the walks, the fleas...oh those fleas...when all of that begins to subside, or you just start to realize that is the new reality...those dogs take it to the next level.
Why?
And no one answers you. They go into dramatic doggy move, pretending they are so sorry, begging your forgiveness.... And of course, you do...but it takes a few hours.
And you find yourself thinking about their mortality again, but in a whole different way.
* There is no way I am making this picture any larger, so don't ask. You get the idea. Notice the cat sitting there looking at it all. As if wanting to say "okay, I'll help, gimme some gloves. No, no, just kidding. I'm a cat after all."
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