On Being A Bad Mom

Dexter has scared me off children forever. I’m a shitty pet owner – I can’t imagine what babies would be like. I knew that having a dog would be a lot of work, but when I agreed to get one, I thought someone ELSE would be taking care of his day-to-day needs and potty breaks. My job was supposed to be to love him and pet him every once in awhile, and my DH was supposed to clean up his poop and make sure he didn’t tear the apartment apart. Then, we got the dog; Chase got a job in another city and moved into a cockroach infested, half-renovated townhouse, and Dex stayed here with me.

Now I feel like my entire life is spent picking up poop, mopping up pee puddles, running up and down 7 flights of stairs to take the dog out, yelling “NO!” and “HEY!” every time he does something he’s not supposed to (which is every second of the day), doing laundry (I spend more time and money washing Dexter’s dog bed and blanket than I do on my own clothes), making sure he’s not eating the cat food, preventing him from humping me, getting up with him at least 3 times a night, and generally entertaining this dog. I can’t be away or make plans for the weekend. I can’t shower and leave him unattended without him chewing through at least one electrical cord, shoe, or pair of underwear (he’s taken to stealing my panties and hiding them in his doggy bed. Yesterday, I found FIVE PAIRS OF UNDERWEAR in his bed. I don’t even know where he got them, or when he had time to sneak them in without me detecting it! He’s like a puppy MacGyver!). He is a little beast. And I am a horrible, horrible mother.

He makes me so tired! And stressed! And there are times when I just let him do whatever he wants to do because it’s easier than yelling or hauling him outside or finding him something appropriate to chew on. Sometimes I let him run off with my panties if it means I get five minutes to myself. Tonight, he ate my watermelon and I couldn’t even muster up the energy to get mad. I just muttered “have at ‘er, fuckface” and prayed that fruit wouldn’t give him diarrhea because if it does, I will be the one who has to clean it up.

Then there are times (mostly when he’s sleeping) when I love him so much, I can’t help but hug him or cover him in kisses or spend a little extra time walking him or playing with him. Despite the fact that he’s absolutely insane and he never stops and I fantasize about drowning him in the bathtub… he’s an adorable little effer. I am clueless about animals and I complain a lot about taking care of him, but when it comes down to it, I guess Dexter is worth it. If I could go back in time, I would totally veto getting the dog but now that we have him, I could never give him away. I’m screwed.

Dexter

We’re training him to be a killer…. with morals. That stuffed animal murdered a small child.

I Am Getting A Puppy!

I am not an animal lover. In fact, I have a general rule against anything that won’t eventually learn to flush a toilet. Pets are dirty, smelly, hairballs of annoying activity and all they do is run about the house eating and shitting.

Haha. That whole last paragraph sounded like a description of myself. Ehh….

Anyway, the point is, I don’t like animals. Also, I am allergic. Sometimes I PRETEND that I don’t hate animals because most people equate pet haters with the devil, but I don’t want to have to hide any longer. If hating cute furry things makes me the devil, well, . . . At least there are no pets in hell (I hope!).

To be honest, I don’t hate ALL animals. Just the ones I don’t own. I do kind of genuinely love my fiance’s cat, Buddy (who is curled up in my lap right now while I write about how much I hate his kitty brothers and sisters, the poor bastard). But I’ve been living with him for three years, and he gave me no choice. He makes me cuddle with him even when I don’t want to. Plus, all he wants to do is eat and sleep, so I feel like we have a lot in common.

Now, Chase KNOWS that I don’t like animals – especially dogs – but he’s been bringing up the idea of getting a puppy for years. I’ve been telling him when he gets me a house and a baby, I’ll give him a dog. I was good with that arrangement until he sent me a picture of a puggle the other night and said a dude at work is selling them. I don’t know if it’s the ticking of my biological clock, my whacked out hormones (Jeremy, remember that time we almost bought a cat because I was suffering from PMS?), or the unadulterated cuteness of that little puppy, but something inside me snapped and now… I want a dog, too. My only condition is that I never have to take it out to the bathroom or walk it or do any of the other boring, disgusting jobs associated with having a dog. I just want to play with it until it I break out into hives and my lungs close up and then I want to hand it off to Chase. The beauty part of this arrangement is that Chase is crazy enough to accept it and I am selfish enough to make him do all of the work.

So, we’re getting a puppy! Said puppy hasn’t even been born yet, though, so I have like, THREE WHOLE MONTHS until I can call him (or her) my own. I never thought I’d say this, but I CAN’T WAIT TO GET A DOG!! I’ve spent all week fantasizing about what it will be like to have one, completely blocking out the fact that puppies are a lot of work, and this one might very well be the end of me. The first thing I am going to do is teach it to fix me a stiff drink. And then I’ll make Chase teach it how to use the toilet.