Thursday, February 18, 2010

Cute Dog, Bad Dog

"My dog is just like my child." Ridiculous. No it is not.  How's the doggy college fund coming along?  Do you worry about your *prepubescent dog being molested, suffering a lifetime of therapist bills and bad relationsips?   Is Paris Hilton's Chihuahua's eating disorder casting unrealist body images for your doggy? When your dog dies, are you going to get another dog  or will you roam the streets in a medicine stained house dress, surgery slippers and a shopping cart? To wit, I have never tied a bandana around my kids' necks and took them on a hike with a clear sandwich bag full of their own poop.  Well, hardly ever.

Although I had two previous practice dogs and swore I'd never get another one, I am now the owner and master of a Toy Poodle which I named Honey Child.  I had a shocking revelation when I returned from my mall massage to retreive my puppy from the groomer and she was wearing this little sweater with a cupcake on the back.  "Is this me?" I looked in the rearview mirror.  Faced with my own reflection, I assumed it was.

This puppy is seriously messing with my self-image.  Aren't I the bad ass girl from the worst town in California?  Aren't I the brave tough firefighter? I have pulled myself up by my bootstraps so hard that my fingers bled.  Now I have a poodle and this might change me forever. What if I start wearing pastel sweatshirts with paw prints drawn out with puffy paint?  What if I start sending out Christmas cards with her picture on them? Or even just start sending out Christmas cards?

The very worst part about my Honey Child is that she makes me look approachable.  It's like I'm carrying one of the Jonas Brothers in my jacket when I hear the highest pitched screaming of little girls with their eyes wild, hands and fingers spread out like eagle claws as they race to us "Can I hold the puppy! Puppy! Puppy!"  I could handle it if there were just kids, but it's grown-ups too and I don't really like grown-ups so much.

I've been thinking about some proactive steps I can take to free myself of obligatory conversations:

1.  Prepare laminated cards with the following pertinent information:
Name: Honey Child
Born: 9/26/09
Sex: Girl
No, I'm not walking her too fast.
From a breeder
Yes, I love her.
No, I do not care about your dog stories.

2. Get a little tiny t-shirt for her with this printed on the back:
"Do not touch me, I have contageous puppy warts"

3. Wear Men in Black sunglasses, earphones, and walk with my head down muttering deterent statements:
    a)  Oh my, look at those pixies with the machine guns! Why do they keep following me?!
    b)  Can I talk to you about Jesus?
    c)  Excuse me, do you have change for the meter?

As I type this blog, she's curled up in my lap.  She is so warm and lovable that I've let my right foot fall asleep so that I won't disturb her perfect puppy nap, complete with occasional hind leg twitches.  Around my feet are every single one of her toys which she has brought to me.  That's all she has to give is just a bunch of cheap toys from the pet store.  They are made in China with a high probability of lead contamination.  But she shares them with me.   There is one more difference between babies and puppies: Babies are easier to nurse.


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