While our brains as humans might always be able to make the right decisions when it comes to life, whether they be big or small, our brain isn’t the only thing that plays a part in our decision making. We WISH it were, but there’s also a conscience, heart, stomach, vagina, penis… you get the point. All of these parts of you weigh in on different things you have to decide on in your life, and sometimes, even if the part is teensy- it ends up winning out against the big bad brain.
When I can blame the random shizz I do on other random parts of my body, I’m gonna do it. Usually it’s my uterus- ’cause that bitch is heinous and deserves blame for a lot of things, ya bitch- but sometimes I blame the parts of me that make me a shmoopy-poopy doting mother. Barf. I don’t know which parts those are. I would assume it’s partially the brain, a lot of heart, a dash of stomach, and a ton of uterus. No brain. The brain takes a back seat and laughs at us all as we make really stupid decisions together. The brain thinks it’s better than everyone else.
Now that I may have seriously confused absolutely everyone other than myself, I’ll get to the point.
I blame my uterus for my dog.
Stick with me, here. Thomas and I had been discussing getting a pet for a while, maybe a caged rodent or flying squirrel or something, y’know- nothing weird- and then by some magical force of nature we started talking about getting a puppy. I figured having a little animal around would shut my uterus the fuck up, ’cause she has been forcing the Baby Fever upon me, and I do not appreciate it. A baby is a baby right? I mean, puppies are like babies in a lot of ways…. and I don’t have to explode my vagina again- win/win!
I made a compromise with my uterus that day… and you don’t compromise with the powers of the uteri, for you know not what you are getting yourself into. It’s like the mafia, the time will always come for you to pay back your debt.
|Cute, but very clearly destined for evil|
As a puppy, little Pascal was wonderful. He was housebroken in under 2 weeks, he never whined or cried through the night (though he did have to go out a lot)- he didn’t even chew on the kids toys more than a few times here or there… and let’s be honest, people- baby toys look like dog toys, and vice versa.
Do I know anything about dog years? No, and I’m way too lazy to go looking that kind of stuff up- so I’ll just tell you what I assume (even if it makes an ass out of me, derp der).
This puppy had his little toddler temper tantrum stage complete with the happy pissing all over the fucking house- even if you simply LOOKED at him the wrong way, moved on past it- and now he’s in full on ‘tween rebellion.
If I loved eating garbage as much as that (now)medium sized fucker, I’d never have to grocery shop again. I’d just go dumpster diving and save myself the cash. I’d win awards for cleaning up all the garbage and making it into compost. I’d be the Organic Composting Girl- and I’d be rich because I’d never have to go grocery shopping again; THAT is how much garbage that fucker eats. And not out of the garbage can, because that is for trash. We don’t have a disposal in the sink, so I use a plastic shopping bag and throw it out every evening (well.. almost.. alright like every 2 days. Sheesh). Give him 5 minutes alone in the house and he has pulled the bag OUT of the sink and shredded it and its contents all over the kitchen floor.
There is nothing fun about day old cheerios, chunky crusty oatmeal bits, and stinky old veggies. Well, unless I was OCG- then it would be awesome- but I’m not, so it’s not.
The smell is quite fabulous, too.
Gone are the days of the “OOHEMEFGEEE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT I… oh, I peed.. I PEED!” days. Nope. I am so overrated, y’all, he only pees when he gets caught fucking up now. Typical ‘tween turdiness.
My once non-peep-making, doesn’t ever bark wonderfully quiet fluffy little bundle of beast? Yeah, don’t even think about going to get the mail or you’ll think someone’s breaking into your house.. only it’s you.. walking to the mailbox. How rude of you!
|pissy couch? you can has.|
He also thinks he deserves my bed. All of it. And he’s big enough to get on it without any help. He also thinks he deserves my pillow… and the air I breathe, considering his frequent attempts to smother me with his heft.
Instead of shitting in the flower bed, where y’know- I can at least giggle and claim it’s fertilizer- he shits right by the fence in the back yard. Probably so I can’t go and get the mail. Probably because he knows the highlight of my day is going to get the mail.
So basically what I’m telling you is that I love my dog but he’s an asshole, and I blame my uterus for all of it.
Fine print: yadda yadda obedience school yadda yadda. Please don’t!
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