The other night my friend Ali asked me how is it that I’m not complaining about our family’s new puppy. The question threw me for a minute because I complain about him all the time, just mostly to my family because, I’m ashamed to admit it, I sometimes hate my puppy. I know. I just lost half of you- you are probably cursing me out and calling the Humane Society to come and rescue my rescue. But, please allow me to explain myself…
First and foremost I’m a mom to a kindergartener and a toddler. Second, I’m the wife of a man who works long hours and travels frequently. That right there is enough for any sane mom to say no to adding a puppy into the mix but throw in my Type A personality and a senior dog who is still pissed at me for having kids and one would think a puppy would not be living in our home. But he is, and how did he come to be here? It’s simple: I was tired of always being the heavy, the practical one, the Debbie Downer if you will. I field all sorts of ridiculous questions on a daily basis that almost always require me to squash a dream: No, you cannot live with Grammy; No, you cannot have a motorcycle; and no, we will not be getting a baby brother and no we cannot trade your little sister for one either. And the list goes on and on.
So cute right? Well, now that he is huge any time I come near him he lunges at me for a cuddle so this is what most of his pictures look like before he knocks me over…
Not so cute, is he?!
So, when my husband (yes my husband) asked for the millionth time if we could get a puppy, I said yes with only a moment’s pause. He was so surprised by my positive response he immediately set to work picking one out, and within the hour our little rescue was on his way to our home. What made me finally cave in to this particular request? Two months in and I’m still not sure. Maybe it was the fact that Madison was heading off to kindergarten or maybe it was this little lyin’ Momma who only talks of the joys but not the shit, literal shit, that comes with it. (If you don’t follow her on IG you should. Her pictures are ridiculously cute. Just don’t run out and get a puppy until you’ve thought it through;)) At any rate, I’ve got complaints.
I typically only burden my husband with my complaints for two reasons: 1. because it’s his fault and 2. because I don’t want to be the a@#hole who hates dogs. I don’t hate dogs. Just mine. Only kidding. Not really. It’s been a real test of patience for me, more so than my kids are. Maybe because I didn’t expect it to be this much work or maybe because I can’t just throw a diaper on him. I don’t know. But it’s A LOT OF WORK. I’m a busy momma, I’ve got stuff to do from sun up to sun down and then some and to fit a puppy’s needs in there? It’s been rough. So, when my friend asked me how come I don’t complain? I realized I’m not alone in disliking aspects of pet ownership. That it was ok to complain about my dog much like I complain about my kids: they’re messy, they poop in the wrong spots, they need CONSTANT attention. Unlike my children, the puppy sleeps. So there’s one thing to be thankful for.
Wyatt came to us as a tiny 6 pound ball of love and even though I requested a small to medium dog, he has exploded into a 50 pound ball of love who still thinks he can cuddle on your lap. He apparently has no idea this growth spurt has even taken place. I know this because he is constantly walking into things he thinks he can walk under. And even though he is much more like Marley and Me and less like Momma’s Gone City, he is beginning to grow on me. Turns out, I just prefer a dog to a puppy, much like I prefer a kid to a newborn. Each stage is challenging in its own way, but it doesn’t mean you don’t love them during the difficult times. Even though he is through the newborn phase, it still isn’t easy as he is basically a toddler and everyone knows what comes with that, but he’s grown on me for sure. Instead of cursing at him for constantly being underfoot, I see his sweet eyes and remember he just wants to be close to me. And right now as he uses my foot for a pillow, I know I have a friend for life. My kids adore him and jump on him like he is the little brother they will never have (sorry, not caving on that one) and he is by far my husband’s favorite child. As for our crankster bull dog, Lucy? Let’s just say she’s no more pissed than she already was.
And me? Well, you just look into those eyes and tell me how you can not love that face?