Last week, I half-posted about how you are all no-good-dirty-rotten freeloaders and how I needed some blog comments to validate my self-worth. And in real life, you came up to me and said “I haven’t commented on your amazing and insightful blog yet, but I will!” and you were all liars. It’s okay. I’m not mad. I learned a lesson. Public begging and shaming doesn’t work on you people. My readers have no shame. It’s cool. Totally cool. Not mad.
Taking a break this week from posting about being pregnant because pregnancy has really pushed my buttons this week. I think I am going to keep track of all the disgusting or rage-inducing things that happen while I am pregnant, and making a big, gross, pukey post about it all after the tiny human is torn from my uterus. And then public schools can just print out my blog and hand it out to students and no one will have sex again. You’re welcome, America.
So, this week, I bring you…
The mightiest of beasts. The leaver of stink clouds. The eater of cats. The biggest of brats. My baby girl furbaby and the reason I will never have a puppy again.
When I say I will never have a puppy again, I don’t mean that I hate puppies. I just hate when I have to take care of a puppy. Yes yes, I know, babies are stupid like puppies. I am aware and I am terrified. Bea was at least a really cute puppy. But that could not make up for what a hell raiser she was. Adam and I adopted her from a rescue in January of 2011 when she was eight weeks old, the puppiest age you are allowed to adopt a puppy. The rescue was about an hour away, and I found out on the drive home that Bea could get car sick by hearing the word “car.” I pulled over three times to try to wipe her off with wipes and her pukey towel. But even covered in her own vomit, she was really really really freaking cute.
Bea got the nickname of Beast at her puppy training class. The guy that ran it is so Dog Whisperer. He’s amazing. Which is really effing frustrating when you’re trying to tell your dog to sit and they’re looking at you like a turkey leg, and then some stranger says it once and it’s like the dog just heard a command from the lord. The nickname stuck because Bea liked to treat everything she came in contact with like a hunted rabbit. She jumped up and bit a hole in the crotch of Adam’s pants once that immediately made me worry if he would be able to father our ridiculously good-looking children. Bea just wanted to bite. She would melt to the floor in a toddler tantrum and thrash her head back and forth like she was just hoping something would fall into her mouth. And this led to a period of time where I wasn’t sure if we would be able to keep her, because what if our babies fell in her mouth one day? That thought broke my heart, and not because of my (at the time) hypothetical babies. But because Bea didn’t ask to get adopted by us, we chose her. And when you choose an animal, that’s your animal, all the time. But then, praise cheesus, the Cone of Shame came.
Once Bea got spayed, she was like a different dog. Completely different. Adam has scars on his hands from when she was a puppy. That jerk used to latch on for no reason. After the spay, Bea was a million times calmer, house training got really easy. The biting stopped on everything except the cats, but I don’t think she gives them real bites. Just really mean play bites that still get her put in time out.
Today, Beatrix is a delightful idiot. She is a very forceful sniffer. She loves to chew things, rather than bite them. We bought her an extra-strength Kong and she laughed at it and then tore that shiz up in ten minutes. Like our cats, she is apparently too fat. But we are working on it. I was really surprised to see that Bea is good with babies and little kids. She seems to understand that they break easier than full-size humans, and doesn’t sniff them with nearly the amount of force she reserves for adults. She smells like crap and is still really cute. No one can have her. Get your own idiot dog.