A Shard of Parenting Brilliance, From Me to You

So, it happened again.

The post-partum dog hates hit me like a ton of bricks.

I could not handle our four-legged friends and their incessant barking, shedding, poopy, snoring nonsense.

Something had to happen. Someone HAD to go.

So, she’s gone. Miley is gonzo. And she’s not coming back.



I know what you’re thinking...

How could you?! That's terrible! You're despicable! BOOOOOO

I mean, I don’t feel great about it.

And when we made the call and sent Miley to a better place, the one thought going through my mind was “What are we going to tell TJ?...How are we going to tell our 2-year-old we did away with the dog?”

The answer turned out to be pretty simple, actually. When you ask TJ where Miley went, he will tell you…

"Miley went to college!"
 

It’s only a little lie. She actually went to my aunt’s house to keep my aunt’s family’s dog company.

Oh wait…did you think we put her down? Like, put her down-down?? Beezus, please. We are not running a kill shelter over here.

Actually, quite the opposite. From what my aunt tells me Miles is exhilaratingly, ecstatically, blissfully happy. She has a yard to run around in, and a buddy dog to play with, her pick of beds to sleep in with people to cuddle up to in them, and pretty constant activity since their house has people around a lot of the time.

Things couldn’t be better for the bitty Miley-Moo. While I do miss her, I can honestly say I do not miss her constant barking. Nor do I miss the little feces stinkbombs she would leave in the middle of the rug anytime we were gone too long.

So there’s your parenting lesson of the day, friends. Next time your family dog is driving you crazy and you depose the of body, however you choose to do it, just LIE TO YOUR CHILD about it, and tell the child the pet went to college.

Duh.

Brilliant.

You’re welcome.

And I’m probably going to hell.

Pitchforks and Arrow Tails,
Christa

I'm Trying to be Really Nice to the Dogs In Preparation for When I Hate Them in 5 Weeks.

We have two dogs. There is Stockton, Tom's 11-year-old pug and our resident senior citizen. And there is Miley who is my sweet little lady mutt rescue wonderdog.

I heart our pups.

Until I have a baby and I hate their guts.

Two years ago before I had TJ I loooooved my little Miley and Stockton. They slept with us in the bed every night, we went on daily walks no matter how gross or crappy it was outside, we cuddled and played, I dressed them up and bought them toys and covered them with blankets when they were cold, and there were many evenings when Stockton would lay on my chest and Miley would lay on my legs while I was reading or watching TV. At the time I seriously could not imagine loving any living thing more than I loved these dogs.

And then I had a baby. And the dogs were like three times his size. And they became public enemy #1A+.

GIANT DOGS, tiny baby...and Stockton winking at the camera as if to say, "This kid is going to replace me on the throne of greatness? We'll see about that..."

Why public enemies, you ask?

Well, first and foremost there was the barking...Oh My G, the barking.

EveryTIME T was sleeping somewhere in the front room area, one of these two assholes would decide to bark at something, usually imagined, and T would, of course, wake up. Just, no.

I was not afflicted with any sort of post-partum depression difficulty when I had TJ, but you would never have known that if the only time you saw me was when I was around these dogs. They were always in the way, they were always barking, they always needed food, or water, or to go outside, or to breathe.

And then, of course, there was the shedding. They. Shed. Everywhere. Making the environment FILLED with contaminants and dander that could harm my child's breathing functions and I hated them.


I wanted to kill them, in fact. I wanted to open the door, let them run outside, and then lock the door behind them. Or drive to the middle of a field, let them out of the car, and then drive away. Or stuff them in the bathroom and make them live in the tub forever.

So in preparation of all of those feelings returning in 5-6 weeks, I'm doing my best to be nice to them like the old days. I'll be honest, Stockton is just too smelly anymore to lay on my chest and be allowed to breathe/sneeze directly into my face, and it's just too big of a pain to take them for a long walk EVERYday, especially if I have to do it all by myself with a two year old, AND pick up the poop (a weird no-no during pregnancy).

So there you have it. A confession of negativity. A chink in the sunny disposition.

Stockton and Miley, I love you...for now.
Christa