Tuesday, February 19, 2013

The Secret Life of Dogs

One of the most common first steps in a tending-towards-serious-relationship is the aquisition of a common pet, most often after moving in together, but before marriage. Or, after marriage as a band-aid on the kids question.

For B and I, it was after moving in together, a couple months before our engagement. It was a natural step. We both loved dogs, we both grew up in houses with two dogs. I already had Chloe, my cranky beagle. [She is doing absolutely great, by the way. When we moved into the new house, we also moved far away from our Vet, so we went a couple weeks without refilling her meds, and lo, she regained so much energy and spunk, we decided the meds were doing more harm than good, so she's off them and doing swimmingly. We may inadvertently be shortening her life span, but honestly, her life is 150% better now than it was while she was on her meds, so there's a lot to be said there.]

Even while I was pregnant, the dogs I doted on took a big backseat. Towards the last few months of my pregnancy, I banned them from the couch, then once Mia was born, I banned them from the living room area all together, and now, in the new house, they are banned from the upstairs completely, and no longer sleep in the same room as we do. I am pretty sure I used to call Swarley my little baby, and now, he is definitely down-graded to the status of pet. I think it's allowed, and inevitable for any new parent. I may be worse than others with this, and I do think I am going to come around and include them in my evening couch-time again, once my baby no longer wants to sit next to or on top of me at all times during her waking hours. At least I hope so, for my poor Swarley's sake. Usually, his sad little face when I turn down his offer of couch-snuggling makes me feel awfully guilty. But, not yesterday, since I came home to this:

 Mia learns to say "Oh my God!" and continuously repeated it throughout the clean up process. It took: a broom, a vacuum, and a swiffer wet jet to clean this up. Not a job to just leave to my Roomba. 

The flour was not limited to the kitchen, as you may imagine, since they trekked the flour on their little grubby paws. It was on the living room rug, the entrance rug, and of course, in the backyard.

Snout covered in flour paste, GUILTY AS CHARGED.

Please explain to me what it is a dog might find appealing about tearing apart and eating a big bag of flour? Of course, this is a-typical. They are generally lovely dogs and our household is totally manageable, normally. But last night, I cursed the day we decided to add a second dog to our brood. Whenever it is that Chloe kicks the bucket (Answer: never. She is the most fiery beagle of all time and will never leave us.) a second dog will not be added to this family again until ALL THE CHILDREN are made and grown and wipe their own butts.

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