Do you see this face? Yes, this one? I’ll wait while you look…
My naughty dog
Notice the complete and utter lack of repentance?
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the face of a criminal. (Although around our household, she goes by a less-accusing moniker. Daisy, Daisy Dot, Daisy-Head-Maisy, depending on our mood.)
And this, Gentle Reader, is a cautionary tale: do not, under any circumstances, give birth to a girl-child who loves animals.
Because if you do, she’ll go through seven years of wanting to be a vet. And if you wish to be even the least-encouraging of parents, that will naturally mean you will volunteer at the local shelter. Which in turn will ensure close proximity to animals you wouldn’t otherwise have noticed, and guarantee a menagerie in your home that would easily fill a nobleman’s castle in eighteenth century England.
And right about the time that you have had it UP TO HERE with the feeding, bathing, and sheltering of said animals, she will decide she’s had a change of career plans. That she’s now into “human” beings. She wants to “converse” while she works. She might be a “nurse”.
So what has inspired this little diatribe? Well, yesterday morning my usually stellar organizational skills might have gone somewhat astray. So the animals may not exactly have been fed before I had to car pool; and the door to the cupboard which houses our dry goods might have been left slightly ajar; and too-smart-for-her-own-good-bundle-of-energy we call Daisy may not have been crated…
And I might have returned to find little caches of food all over the house: pearl barley spilling from a half-gnawed bag on the living room sofa, brown glutinous rice on the mat at the front door, red lentils in the hallway upstairs.*
But that I could handle. No, what disturbed me then–and is clearly still on my mind a full twenty-four hours later–was what she chose to nestle on the top of a suitcase in the hallway, within easy reach, should she care for a snack.
Cat poopsicles. Fish-flavored, litter-dusted cat poopsicles. Ewww!
The point of this story should be obvious, but for those of you who find my mad storytelling skilz a tad oblique, I will summarize:
- If you can blame your increasing girth on snowball cookies, feel free to borrow my dog.
- Never, ever, rescue an animal whose IQ and energy is higher than yours.
And the most critical of all
3. Ignore all nascent sparks of career preference in your offspring.
What about you people? Any cautionary tales you wish to share?
*Warning: This paragraph incorporates a subliminal, yet effective, health message.
It could be worse. My female dog had a taste for tampons (fresh from the box, thank god) when she was a puppy. She’d find the boxes in cabinets under the bathroom sinks (there were two women in our house) and proudly display her finds whenever we had company.
We had to put the cats’ litter box in the basement. The stairs to the basement are slats with gaps between them and our dog was terrified to walk on them. Problem solved.
Ha ha ha, Becke! I can just picture your face as she arrives while you’re serving the coffee.
Re the stairs solution: regrettably that won’t work here. This little monkey is as agile as a cat. She even “perches” on the back of the sofa and can jump at least four feet high. Caught her sneaking in for some more Tootsie Rolls this morning.
If only she wasn’t so dang cute.
our dog had separation anxiety that led to many food related destructions of our house early on before we understood what was happening. once we had received a box of gevalia coffee with 4 -1 lb. boxes inside. the dog went nuts that day and ate the entire box – cardboard, inserts, foil wrappers, and the coffee beans. Let’s just say he was not only wired from the caffeine but in dire need of a potty break when we returned home at the end of the day. but he also ate through doors and could get himself out of crates and out of the house so it really was a miracle that he lived as long as he did. we also learned a lot about how much chocolate [and how much of what type] a dog can ingest without doing serious damage to themselves. pets can make us old and keep us young all at the same time;)
Ugh, Stephanie! Have you been living in my house? Went off to the library to write for 2 hours today, made the mistake of not crating Daisy beforehand.
Garbage. Everywhere. (See my new post for details.)
What kind of dog did you have?