This is Kizzy, the family dog. Well, I don't know if you could consider her a family dog--The Mr. certainly wouldn't claim her. She's really my dog. Only she doesn't listen to me. So maybe she's The Bug's dog. Right, so this is Kizzy. I love Kizzy. I also hate Kizzy. You could, in fact, say that we have a love-hate relationship.
As a kiddo I was nuts about animals. We're talking obsessed. I almost liked animals as much as I liked boys. Almost. My mom could tell you--she has more than one letter explaining to her why I absolutely must have a maltese, bunny, a llama...complete with diagrams and charts showing costs and how exactly I was going to cover them, needed supplies, living quarters, etc. Occasionally the response I got was: when you are married and have a house of your own you can have whatever animals you want.
Enter the Mr. He did not draw diagrams of llama pens and hamster breeding quarters. He did not beg for a little doggy that would lick his face and sleep in his bed. And, he most certainly did not ask for a wife who wanted those things. Luckily, we were madly in love and the seven hundred and sixty-two things we had going for us weighed against this one biggie and we decided to tie the knot anyway.
Let's skip ahead a year or two and just say that I am overly persistent and the Mr. is very sweet and possibly a glutton for punishment. I got a dog. And, he was right. She does everything he was afraid she would do. She poops all over the yard. She licks the Mr. (he hates that!), and just likes him in general. SHE.EATS.EVERYTHING. We're talking wood, we're talking weeds, we're talking branches, $30 shrubs we had planted the fall before, writing utensils, eating utensils, paper towels, sketchy-looking berries, plastic bags, rubber bands, and her favorite: The Bug's clothes. I have come outside to find nothing left but a 1" square of a shirt. She has eaten swim shorts, a hat, a shirt...who knows what else. Those are the days I want to kill her.
In fact, the first four months I think I went into a depression trying to decide on a daily basis whether I should keep her or pass her on. I didn't want to do it, but she was such a struggle for me. It is interesting, though. God knows the lessons I need to learn and my goodness, is he ever teaching me through this dog.
Patience has been the biggest lesson for sure. But, eight months later, she is almost well behaved. She drives me nuts sometimes, but I love her. I know she'll make a good dog. And she has saved me so much grief. Every afternoon as I start dinner, I say to the Bug: "Go outside and play with Kizzy." And he does, and that clumsy, oblivious, bowling ball of a dog is as careful as you can believe with my little boy. And even The Mr. likes that.
SBB
Just remind the Mr. that he always shows up on your list of things that you are thankful for and this is the first time Kizzy has even been mentioned. Of course, maybe him putting up with Kizzy is one of the many million reasons you love him so much!
ReplyDeleteMaybe he is part goat.
ReplyDeleteI had every pet you can imagine growing up. I did the same thing you did with the planning and convincing. It was pretty much a pet shop at our house. But somewhere between childhood and motherhood I became a germaphobe. I like OTHER peoples animals that I don't have to clean up after. And I like our chickens because they are outside and Ethan pretty much does everything.
Well, she is a mix. They told me she was 1/2 chocolate lab. Maybe she's really weimaraner mixed with goat.
ReplyDeleteHaha. This post was so well written. I was like you about animals when I was a kid, and now I feel your pain with our golden retriever. Every day I tell my kids, did you leave anything outside that you don't want Cody to chew up?" and I've stopped tring to plant anything in the backyard, since it is torn out not too soon after. I thought I was a patient person until we got this dog, but I have much to learn.
ReplyDelete