For the record, they are still dismembering trees around here. Body parts are littering the streets. I’ve stop quelling the burst of laughter triggered by someone telling me that it makes the trees more beautiful. How can you call a few leaves growing on a 5 foot tall stump beautiful, unless you are referring to nature’s general Struggle To Survive Despite Us?
Speaking of struggling to survive, Spring Chicken and I are on the rocks. A friend recently requested more pictures of the puppy here on my blog. I didn’t know how to tell my friend that I’m currently considering divorce. I told the Chicken yesterday.
“I want a divorce,” I said. She raised a poop-caked paw and smeared it on my jeans. Then she sprinted across the garden. I don’t think that she understands that the way for us to grow closer is not to run away from me. Certainly the poop and mud smears aren’t what a relationship counselor would recommend. Of course, neither would one recommend locking up the offending party back in her cage.
I am just not a good person. You may remember my pet track record. I take little responsibility for all the squashed cats. But you can’t get around a rabbit so starved that she had no eyeballs. Granted, I learned my lesson and, pre-Peace Corps, haven’t had a pet since I was 13. I thought I was ready.
But Sanity was possibly eaten. Now I’m not sure if I can deal with a puppy who apparently lacks the critical skills necessary not to step in her own feces. Because of rain and lack of running water inside, she always smells and always leaves mud on my hands, ankles and work clothes. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t always wet here, if I didn’t have to keep her outside, if maybe she was a cat.
I know the typical pet owner mantras:
-It’s not her fault.
-She’s your responsibility now, for better or worse.
-The joys of dog ownership outweigh the chores.
-Dog is man’s best friend.
These, however, are the phrases that repeat themselves in my head:
-When did I ask for so much mud ON ME?
-I don’t have the patience for all of this puppy frenzy.
-How would you like it if I threw my turd on YOU!?
-Who am I kidding? You would probably eat it.
What? I’m not a good person. I know this. I took her on a walk the other day and thought about plausible explanations for how she ended up “falling off the ravine bridge”. In no scenario could I figure out a good reason for letting go of the leash, so the little trotter survived the brief consideration of canicide.
I’ve made my Google cry for help. Searches for “please help me I hate my dog” have resulted in the following:
-“Good luck. Next time, DO YOUR HOMEWORK FIRST.”
-“I think just give the dog to a shelter, don’t let pee and excremant dominate your destiny.”
-“I’m not a violent person. Sometimes I want to punch the dog in the face, but I know that may only cause him to piss on my carpet again.”
Truth is, she’s a sweet puppy. She just ended up with a terrible owner. Someone, say something to get me to snap out of it. Quick, dog whisper me over the internet or something!