The Dog Blog

It took every muscle in my body not to run out of the doggy adoption event I attended last Saturday with a Pug named Licky. Everyday, I faithfully check Petfinder.com and other Rescue websites to see what new dogs have become available. Some may call it obsessed. I call it doing my research.

I have always been a dog lover, although maybe not as crazed as I am currently. My family had a Cocker Spaniel named Amber when I was growing up. She was very mean and barked at anyone who wasn’t a member of the immediate family. She even bit the daughter of a family friend when she came to visit.

While Amber was mean to everyone else, she loved me – or so I liked to believe. I would follow her around the house with my Playskool Tea Set and force her to play Church Ladies with me. This would require me to get into my Sunday best: a large floral print dress, a big floppy white hat, gloves and velvet purse, equipped with my horrible British accent. “We ah chuch ladies!” I would exclaim, forcing Amber at my side. If she could roll her eyes, I’m sure they’d be stuck in the back of her head. About 10 minutes into my make-believe shtick, she’d trot away, deciding she needed a break from my horrible accent.

But for the most part, we had an alliance. When it was steak night, I used to chew up the food in my mouth and say, "Look! I made dog food!" and proceed to give it to Amber who was ready and willing to eat mamma-bird style. I can't say my parents were too impressed with my talent.

Since she just couldn’t handle being nice to anyone else, it was very common to put her in the garage while guests were over. She stayed in the garage so much, that it became her territory in our house. Unfortunately, there came a day when her health began to deteriorate.

The day my mom told me they were going to put her down, I shrieked and cried and yelled, “YOU DOG KILLER! YOU’RE GOING TO KILL MY DOG!” I didn’t understand what was going on really, and I gave my mom a huge guilt trip that she still has to this day. Looking back, I feel bad for being so harsh. But how else would an 8 year-old react?

My parents refused to get another dog. In order to satiate our need to have pets, a slew of gerbils, hamsters, and fish would occupy our home for years to come. We even had a pair of gerbils reproduce and had 12 gerbils in our house at one point. We named each and every one of those gerbils prior to giving them to the pet store; including a runt we named “Little Foot” because it had a deformed foot. My family made fun of the gerbil saying it was meant to be mine since I also have a messed up big toe (please see entry “Allow me to introduce you to my big toe”) but even a million gerbils would never fill the void of having a dog in my life.

It wasn’t much help for our case when our neighbor’s dog would come do its business in our yard. My dad would get angry as he cleaned up after the dog’s mess. To get revenge on the dog ruining our dream, I took the shovel from the garage and attempted flinging the crap back in their yard as a cover up. Unfortunately, it ended up hitting the white fence separating our properties, sliding down, leaving a brown streak in its wake. My sisters and I laughed hysterically. Needless to say, my parents weren’t too amused and I ended up taking the hose to it moments later.

So I vicariously lived through friends and boyfriends that had dogs. One dog in particular, I’ll name him Buster to mask his identity, had a bad habit of getting into the garbage. He humiliated me by getting into the bathroom wastebasket and retrieving a used feminine product I had just discarded and presented it to a former boyfriend’s father. Worst dog in the history of the world.

But a second runner-up is my grandma’s dog Joey the Puggle. While I love my grandma, this dog is the devil. It is very disobedient and jumps up on you incessantly. It barks non-stop, it freaks out, and gets into EVERYTHING. It even took hold of my favorite winter coat with the fur hood. It was clenched between its jaws and Joey almost ripped it to smithereens. I wanted to severely hurt this dog. Lucky for Joey, I held my cool, gently removed the coat, which was now dripping with his stink-breath saliva, and my grandma locked him in the back bedroom.

However, during another visit, I once again took revenge, unbeknownst to this unintelligent canine. My little sister, Grandma and I played a game of cards and I had an upset stomach. I was trying to keep it down, but one toot snuck out just audible enough for my sister to hear, but not for my hearing-impaired grandmother whose hearing aids had been emitting a high pitched tone all day. My little sister looked at me in disgust and I just started cracking up. My grandma looked at me and said, “What is so funny?”

“I think Joey just farted,” I said laughing.

My little sister started laughing so hard, she was nearly in tears. We both kept bursting out in laughing fits every five minutes, confusing my grandma who did not know what was going on. Joey looked up at me in confusion from underneath the table, and I just smiled in content.

Even though all of my dog stories are negative, I still vie for a canine pup so I can play Church Ladies again. They are so cute and cuddly (except for when they crap, get into the garbage and rip up your coats), and I probably will end up with a Pug or French Bulldog.

I have plans to move in with my boyfriend when my current lease ends, and I’m waiting to see what kind of place we end up with before I pick a dog. We even have names picked out already. Most people pick kid names before they have them, but my boyfriend and I pick dog names before we have them- Hambone and Bowser. Awwwwww.

Stay tuned for my continuing dog adventures over the next year. Mark my words: I will have a dog!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but dog crap is not aerodynamic.