For 25 years I have happily been a cat person. Growing up, our family had two cats that lived until I was out of college. And we adored them and talked about them like they were people.
Naturally, when I moved out to LA and began imitating a grown up, I got a cat of my own, Midge. She is perfect and I've convinced myself that she is able to communicate her thoughts to me telepathically.
And then a year ago, I got a kitten. And boyfriend named him Sergeant Lazer J. Fletcher, or Sarge for short. The kitten had big feet and ate a lot. Now he's grown up, and enormous, and sort of a dick. He doesn't let us hold him and he refuses to sit with us on the couch. But he does do cute roley poley maneuvers all over the apartment and makes funny noises, so we like him just the same.
I've settled into the idea that I am bound to be a crazy cat lady, and really it's only my age that prevents me from wearing that title right now. So content was I to be a cat person, that when I read this post on the very good blog survivingmyself, I laughed. How foolish! Don't get a dog if you want to be happy! They take up too much time. And they are always THERE, at your side, wanting things. Or not wanting things. Just happy to be there.
One day later, Devin informs me we are getting a dog. This guy.
Yes, I know he's very cute. But I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with him! Fortunately, I get the excuse to be the bad parent because I never had a dog before. We haven't met him yet. I just borrowed this picture from the adoption site. He is 6 months old. I hope he likes me. He arrives today at 4:30.
He's a labrador/boxer mix. I want him to have one of those jazzy mixed breed names like labradoodle or puggle. I was thinking maybe boxador or lobster.
Last night, we ventured to Petco to buy supplies. In the times I've been there shopping for my perfect cats, I have always resented that like 75% of the store is dog supplies. I feel really bad for ferret owners though, they only get like one shelf's worth of supplies. Anyway, this time I got to shop for dog things.
Apparently I'm not very good at this. And after Devin vetoed my selection of an argyle patterned collar and a yellow hooded rain coat, I thought maybe I better stay on the outskirts of Project Puppy. So I ambled around the Petco, entertaining myself. I came across this on the aforementioned ferret shelf.
Howdy, partner. Cowboy Ferret is lickin his chops. Adorable.
And then there was this guy:
He was trying to catch some zzzz's, but the asshole albino rats next door were making quite the ruckus. Seriously, both times I visited the small animal section they were fighting and tumbling around. I felt bad for one of the rats, he was sort of getting pummled, but I don't think there's anything a girl can do in such a situation, except to get one of the stoned petco employees leaning against the jumbo cat condo to come over and break the two of them up temporarily. And that seemed like a pointless effort. For all I know, these rats were working out a very important matter (or RATter, as it were).
[btw, do you see what I spend my time thinking about? It's hard to be so intelligent...too many brain cells at work.]
I liked this guy. I wanted to take him home with me. He has the same coloring as Midge the Cat and Nameless Dog, so he'd match perfectly. But I suppose the animal-to-person ratio in our apartment is getting a little out of hand already.
There were about 6000 different dog toys for sale at Petco. My least favorite was this monster:
Besides being hideous, the tag read "Releases bacon-scented air from nostrils when squeezed!" Awful! Oh, and guess who just HAD to put her stupid face under it and test out the bacon-scented air...
After roughly 4 hours, we finally left the store with as many dog supplies as we could stuff into the car. We got the puppy a crate because allegedly he is already crate trained. I had always thought it was mean to put dogs in cages, but according to boyfriend and the booklet that came with the crate, dogs like to have their own little spaces because instinctively they like dens. It also says they keep their crates clean, because they don't like to shit where they sleep. I guess this is nice of them, but how about no shitting ANYWHERE in the house, as a general rule. In fact, now that I think about it, it's kind of lame that he will stop himself from shitting in HIS OWN house, but not in ours.
Anyway, we meet him tonight and despite my groaning and ineptitude, I am really very excited! Updates to come.