So, you know how your husband goes out of town for the weekend and your young dog has been vomiting and having diarrhea for four days, and you have big deadlines, and you have to go get your daughter at camp, which ends up taking more than six hours, and you cry the whole way there because you just got a crown on your bottom tooth, and it’s sitting too high and jamming your upper tooth into places where it shouldn’t be and “bruising” the nerve, and it hurts so bad that you take three Dilaudid and it still hurts, but OH BOY do you sleep…you know, when you should be working, and you need to do laundry so you can pack to go out of town and speak in front of 3600 people, and then your old dog gets a tick and when you try to pull it out with tweezers you just end up getting half of it and a whole lot of blood all over your kitchen, and you have to make an emergency trip to your out of town dentist on a Sunday…you know, when you should be working, and then the young dog who has been vomiting and having diarrhea for four days decides she DOESN’T WANT TO GO IN THE YARD TO GO TO THE BATHROOM ANYMORE and you have to literally drag her to the grass, and then she gets stung by something and her face swells up so much that she can’t see, and then you are SO HAPPY when your husband walks back in the door?

Yeah, me too.

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This past Sunday morning, my husband was off running 26.2 miles, which meant that I had to make my own coffee and walk the dogs.  Um…rude!

The coffee making wasn’t too bad because I have one of those single-cup thingies now, which means I didn’t have to do much other than push one button.  I wish you could push a button for picking up dog poop.

But, the real challenge in walking the dogs is that we have one that just turned 13 and another one that just turned 2.  Their energy levels are slightly different.  So are their joints.  While one could easily clear a fence, the other one can barely stand up.

My husband is brave enough to take the dogs off of their leashes at the park near our house, despite Daisy (the young dog) once sending a lady over her handlebars when she ran out of the woods right onto a bike path.  And the fact that, just last week, she rolled in a maggot-infested, dead rat.  Side note to the hawk who drops rodents from the sky around here:  Pick smaller prey.

I don’t particularly like dealing with angry bikers with head injuries nor do I want to wash maggots off of my dog…again…so, on Sunday, I took Daisy out in the yard with a ball and a ball-chucker to work off some excess energy that couldn’t be worked off with a regular walk.  Also, thank you to the person who invented the tool that allows dog owners to NOT touch the slobbery ball.  I love you.  Really.

The entire time that Daisy was playing fetch, Blue (the old dog) was sitting at the front window, whining.  I watched her pacing and crying for 20 minutes.  I felt so bad, that after I took Daisy inside, I took Blue out for some one-on-one time.

Blue immediately picked up a big stick and pranced around the yard to show me that, despite being 13 years old, she’s still got it and I was quick to tell her so.  There was a lot of her looking proud and a lot of me saying, “Ohhhh!  Blue has a big stick!  She’s a big dog!”.  And, also a lot of my neighbors looking at me funny.

Then she dropped the stick and started tearing at the grass with her teeth to show me, again, that she’s still got it.  I was happy to see her spunk.

A few seconds later, she found a tennis ball laying in the grass and brought it to me.  I looked into her eyes and saw the puppy that I picked out 13 years ago, this month, when she was barely four weeks old and her head made her so top-heavy that she fell over.  I asked, “Are you sure, girl?  You want me to throw the ball?”  She looked back at me, panting, her ears perked, just waiting for me to tell her to “go get it”.

I threw the ball to the back of the yard and watched as she clumsily trotted after it.  Her front legs ran while her back legs stayed stiff, but she gave it her best effort.

Until she tripped on a tree root.

She landed in the mud with one hind leg facing forward and the other hind leg trapped behind her.  She was doing the equivalent of the doggie-splits and couldn’t get up.

I ran to her, clasped my hands under her belly and lifted her back to her feet.

Then I crouched down in front of her and rubbed her neck, nuzzled my face close to hers and said, “See, old girl…you’ve still got it.  At least Daisy can’t do that.”

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One evening, not long after we bought our house in 1998, I was home alone when I noticed a car slow down, then stop out front.  From my bedroom window I could see two men sitting in the front seat, looking up at my house.

They pulled away, but a few minutes later they were back.  This went on a few times…them slowing, then stopping in front of the house, then pulling away, only to return again.

As dark approached, I called my husband and asked him to hurry home.  Then I called my sister-in-law, who lived nearby.  Right after I hung up with her, I stood frozen in the dark corner of my living room as I saw one of the men peeking in the window just a few feet from where I was standing.

My first call was to the police (the man was caught and arrested at the end of my street) and my second call was to my husband to tell him that I wanted a dog.  Like, now.

A month later we went to look at a litter of Labradors.  I didn’t pick out the snugly pup or the one who was covering me with kisses.  I chose the dog who was pulling my purse across the driveway.

Here’s a hint…when choosing a puppy, the one who pulls your purse across the driveway may also turn out to be the one who drags a 25 lb., frozen turkey out of the kitchen sink and tears it to shreds that you find all over your house.

She may be the one who gets the trash can off the kitchen counter and spreads coffee grounds and dirty diapers in every room.

She could be the dog that you refer to as, “The Shark” because she eats everything in sight, including the entire box of doughnuts belonging to the construction workers down the street, a 12 inch tall, solid-chocolate bunny, a breast pad, and a ham shank that makes her leave piles of diarrhea and vomit all over the house. 

Also, that mess might just be discovered on your 30th birthday AND be smelled all the way from your garage.  Your detached garage.

Did I mention that she may jump the fence and run away frequently too?  So, you’ll have that going for you.

But, she might also be the dog who fiercely protects you and viciously barks at anyone who even looks at your yard.  She could be the one thing that makes you feel safe in your own home, because you know she wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.

She may be the most loyal partner you could ask for, but once you have a baby she leaves your side to go lay under the crib. 

She could be one of the best dogs you ever have.

But damn, it’s going to hurt your heart bad when she gets old.

Fair warning.

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