My kids were both born with a strong desire for air, breast-milk, clean dry surroundings, and a dog. It’s probably the one thing that unites them across the sex and age gap as well as being what sets me farthest apart from them. I never wanted a dog. What do dogs do? The only thing worse than a dog is a cat, and that’s not saying much. Dogs are basically smelly shit-machines as far as I was concerned. Plus, if it can’t eat from a drive-thru window then it probably won’t prosper here.
I should also say that I am a worrier. When I hear hoof beats, I don’t think horses. I don’t even think zebras. I think wild, suburbs roaming packs of flesh-eating bacteria with legs – legs shod with iron soles meant to kick your ass and give you tetanus. That’s my process, and all I can say about that is thinking this way has kept me safe for years so IT’S WORKING.
The point of all that is that having a dog in this house would create a new dynamic in which I have yet another thing to care for, worry about, be legally obligated to. To say I resisted getting a dog is an understatement and shortly before we picked the new dog up, I was sure that although I would probably like it well enough, it wouldn’t love it love it. I mean, it’s a dog. I called it an it. This explains everything.
Except it’s a little different than that now. It sort of happened this way:
Because, hello? This: