I have puppies

Imagine me saying that along the lines of "I have herpes". Because that's how I mean it.

They're not my puppies, mind you. (I'm just holding them for a friend, I swear!) I have been dog-sitting for the big sis, who has two of those yappy little dogs whose voices are about eight times the size of their bodies. One is old and curmudgeonly and we have spent many a weekend together while big sis and the hubby have been away over the years. Not the brightest dog, I'll admit, but we understand each other.


The new puppy is...well, he has been very useful in some ways. I always thought it would be nice to get a dog again, once my guy and I are finally on the same continent and all that. A warm fuzzy to have around the house to keep me company. Something small enough for me to handle, but large and manly enough for my guy not to feel ridiculous taking it out for a walk. Here are some things the puppy (let's call him Giblet, just for fun) has made me realize:


1. even a ten pound dog is not small enough for me to handle when it is hurtling at my ankles with all the speed and purpose of a professionally thrown bowling ball.

2. people will laugh at you if you get knocked off your feet by a ten pound puppy. No matter how impressively purple the bruises are.

3. some dogs have brains roughly the size and complexity of a lump of kibble. And that's being generous.

4. the smaller a dog is, the more deaf, dumb and blind the owner becomes to its shortcomings. Ten pounds or less, and every annoying behavior and bad habit gets laughed off with "aw, but look how cute he is!" To get the full effect of that, say it out loud in baby talk while scrunching up your nose and puckering your lips into a kissy face. Sorry about that.

5. Cute loses all meaning and power to sway me when I am cleaning up a lake of pee off the hardwood for the third time in a day.

Which leads me to my biggest revelation:

6. Some dogs refuse to learn to pee outside. Seriously.


Take all of those together and I am no longer eager for dog ownership. I think maybe I am forever spoiled by the one dog I've ever had. He was a genius among dogs, the best dog ever. And yes, I know everyone says that. But Sandy actually was. You'll just have to take my word on that one, because it is entirely true. This was a dog who learned hand signals in one day when he went deaf at the age of fifteen. Just saying.

Giblet on the other hand has an intellect that makes me believe his squashed-in face is not a natural genetic occurrence, but the result of a freak accident at birth that resulted in shards of his nose being pushed into his brain. That is the only explanation I can come up with for a dog who does not have enough instinct of self-preservation to actually move off a seat if you are about to sit on him, or out from under your feet after you have stepped on him an even dozen times.

Aw, but he is cute!

Unfortunately, poop on the carpet outweighs cute in my book every time.