“I have two dogs now, twice a many as last year”.
This is something I’ve been repeating, almost like a zombee. Two months ago on my birthday, I asked for a puppy. This alone should qualify me for an intervention, for anybody who knows how insane my life has become since rescuing my dementia mom from her abusive asshole husband, getting a puppy is crossing the line.
I forgot how crazy life becomes with a puppy. I know a human baby is much times worse (cause you can’t just put them in a cage), but a dog is a good second. There’s the barking, the chewing, the diarrhea, the whining, the wake-ups in the middle of the night, the smell of dog shit, the cleaning of poop on the shag rug, the biting with the razor sharp teeth, the neighbor’s complaints, and the scratching with razor sharp claws.
If you are following me, please know that I’m on the brink of insanity.
But then, each morning, when I let the the little monkey out of her kennel, and she jumps on my bed and madly licks my face, it become all worth while.
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