The three dogs (our two, and a houseguest) are getting to be a bit much. This morning, K. and I clung to each other under the covers as the dogs raced around the bed, nails clicking maniacally on the floors, and ending with a grand finale of what can only be described as a catfight, despite their canine identities.
I think it was maybe seven am.
I can only think that the constant barrage of puke, poop, pee, hair, and stunts like opening the refrigerator (oh yes, they can, and they do-- we now have a lock) and removing the single slice of cheese I packed to melt over my lunch of minestrone is preparing me for motherhood.
We came home on Monday to vomit that stained the hardwood floor. I have no idea what it could have been.
Watching our shows on the porch last night, I realized that we had literally locked the dogs outside so that we could enjoy our evening in peace. They didn't mind, as hanging out in the yard and fearlessly attempting to assault every passerby is their idea of a well-spent day, but you know what?
We won't be able to lock our actual children outside.
And they'll grow up enough to open the child-safe lock. By which time, theoretically, they won't eat 15 raw eggs the way Shadow did, and then emit them in various forms all over the house...but still. My cheese might not be safe.
And they'll open the doors that we keep closed so that no one barfs or pees on our bed.
But you know what? If we get a bigger house with more land, we'll probably adopt another dog.
Delivering a wedding present.
1 month ago