I am no fun. Risk averse. Chaos averse. I’m in recovery for non-spontaneous behavior syndrome. I lack impulsivity. Looking for a wild evening that could lead to anything? Don’t go with me. Looking for a vacation where I have researched, planned, and booked things with 5 contingency plans and 2 extra of everything in your suitcase? I’m your woman. If I wrote a memoir, potential titles would include “Addicted to moderation: One woman’s adherence to balance.” I’ve been avoiding obvious blunders like the plague for as long as I can remember. I figure enough crap happens that I have no control over…I have plenty to fill up my ’embarrassing story’ bank.
I need for no more. But-
I’ve gone ahead and done something wild. Truly flies in the face of all logic. It’s unlike me. Maybe 43 is the year I really start to lose my grip on reason. I told my kids yesterday that this is probably the 2nd craziest decision I’ve made on purpose. This was a huge decision. They asked me what the craziest one was and I said, “Get married to a human.” They rolled their eyes. I reminded them I loved Daddy but it was by far the single largest and most important decision I’ve ever made. And now this.
So…(drumroll please) This happened. Grover. He happened.
We adopted him today. I have a purse dog and I don’t have any clue what I’m doing. I ordered a book from Amazon on Yorkies. It arrived the same day as Grover. Praise God for 2 day shipping.
I bought something called “Beef Fritatta” for him to eat. I’m not kidding.
I went to Home Goods and bought a pet bed. I literally had to whisper out loud to myself “The dog bed doesn’t need to be a fashion accessory. You don’t need a chevron dog bed. Just pick something. Anything.” Also, they sold Isaac Mizrahi designer printed bags for poop. I don’t feel like I should pay extra for gift wrapped poop. I resisted.
My son has already asked if we can buy him a sweater for Halloween and dress him up. Sure. What dog who has been rescued doesn’t love some fool dressing them up? It’s not like he already has suffered enough humiliation growing up in a puppy mill.
Now, I’m not a huge dog person. I’ve loved just two dogs in my life. Snoopy was my childhood dog. A hyperactive Brittany Spaniel. My parents got Snoopy as a puppy to soften the blow of me getting a brother. My mother readily admits it was not ideal to have a 4 year old, a newborn, and a puppy all being needy and helpless at the same time. They let me name her (since they wouldn’t let me name my brother) and Snoopy was the only dog name I knew (Hey-I was 4!). My poor dad would take her duck hunting and when others called out for Thor and Duke and Bandit and Maximus-he had to yell, “Snoopy, Bird down!” That is me and Snoopy below. 8th grade. I can tell the year because of the unfortunate “I should totally get bangs!” idea. See. Spontaneity-never pays.
The only other dog I’ve ever loved was named Clyde. Clyde, the massive black lab who belonged to some dear friends, was trained to play until you simply said “Game Over” and then he would sit and gaze at you with wisdom in his eyes. He has his own theme song, “Clyde, clyde, the best dog in the world.”
So, I’m not super keen on the dog thing. I mean I’ve just recently trained 3 people to not eat things off the carpeting or pee on the floor and yet I find myself taking in something that will surely do both of the above and I can’t take away screen time as punishment. I surely must be losing it.
The kids have been working on me for some time. When I got pregnant with #3…my son said, “I want a boy. It has to be a brother. If it isn’t a brother, I’d rather just have a dog.” That was 7 years ago and while he did get his brother, he hasn’t forgotten about the dog.
Then 3 years ago my two oldest children participated in something school called “The Principals Challenge.” It’s a summer challenge aimed at having kids keep up on reading/writing/math and if they complete The Trifecta (and they did because I cracked the proverbial whip ALL summer) they have lunch with the principal and get a gift card for the book fair. The challenge requires each kid to write 6 stories. At the end of the summer we had 12 original stories. When I went to compile them for submission I realized there was a theme. 8 of them were about getting a dog, finding a dog, wanting a dog, dogs talking to other dogs, dreaming about a damn dog.
So why now? Good question. It’s the fault of the baby. The baby is no longer a baby. He said just two days ago, “Is it a thing now that people keep forgetting that I am six AND A HALF!?” Then a chain of events…One friend kept posting pictures of rescue dogs. Another friend knew of this specific rescue organization she knew and trusted (underdogrescuemn) This rescue organization was having a foster dog event 5 miles from my house. We went. My two oldest sat in a pen filled with dogs that were in foster care. I knew it the minute they set foot in there it was going to happen. Their eyes glassed over with happiness. We talked to Grovers foster parent. She said all the right things. AT the event was another friend from college I haven’t seen in 20 years. She works for the organization and is the one in charge of this breed of dog for adopting. She said all the right things. Except for the fact her own dog just had a $2700 surgery. I’m ignoring that. Everything else she said was reassuring. Dog kismet.
It was meant to be. I can’t even believe it.
I am not a dog person. Yet. I’m very much a people person. And my people? These people. They neeeeeeeed a dog. Badly. So Grover it is. Honestly, I couldn’t even live with myself if they don’t have this experience.
They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend but dog is mans best friend.
If this doesn’t go well, next time I’m getting a diamond the same carat weight as Grover.
Ooooooooooh he is pretty darling though.