Dog For Sale

Not really.

Though, if you had called my cell phone at around 11:24 this morning she probably would have been going home with you. At least until Corey got home and talked me out of it.

Allow me a bit of back-story, if you will.

For as long as I’ve lived outside of my parents’ home, I wanted a dog. Throughout college, graduate school and the first few years in Kentucky, this canine longing was always tempered by the fact that I traveled frequently in the fall and spring. Being single, this never seemed like a fair situation for the animal. Alas, it seemed I would never find a creature to devote all of my obsessive, Elmira-esque affections upon.

So once Corey and I started seriously dating, I started making the case for all the reasons why we needed to get a dog. The primary argument: I wanted one. Badly. Corey admitted that he wasn’t really an animal person and was reluctant to go along with my schemes. Being the patient, logical and rational person I am – I continued to whine, complain and beg until I wore down his resistance and we went in search of a dog. (Sadly, this tactic has not been as effective in my pursuit of an in-ground swimming pool. Yet.) On Easter of 2008, we brought Lily home to stay with us. I was smitten.

Skip ahead to this summer.

I’ll be blunt. There’s been more than a bit of tension between the two of us. Lily and I do not make for the inter-species comrades I had once eagerly fantasized of. For one thing, she’s a traitor. Consider the following Exhibit A:

Look at this love connection.

So not only do I have to compete with the iPad for Corey’s attention, but I have to compete with Corey for the dog’s attention. LOVELY.

Exhibit B: The dog pathologically refuses to sleep in her kennel. She’s learned to hide under the coffee table/couch/bed whenever Corey and I get ready to sleep and hide there until we’re unconscious. She also likes to sleep in the middle of the bed, perpendicular to Corey and I. Should either of us have the grotesque audacity to say, roll over or move a leg, she snarls and snaps at us. If we somehow manage to get her in her kennel, she’ll wake up at 2 a.m. crying. My super-sonic lady ears always get woken up by this. Now that I’m in my 9th month of pregnancy and movement is (shall we say) burdensome, I have to wake Corey up to let her out so the wee madame may stop crying. I fear she will teach Elliott this same trick and we’ll have to get a king size bed when he’s a toddler. (NOTE: Elliott will not be sleeping in bed with us as an infant for two reasons: I roll around  a lot in my sleep and infants aren’t good about barking when they’re about to be smothered.)

Exhibit C: One of the things I can’t hold against her — Lily has horrible summer skin allergies. Last year it was so bad, she had chewed the fur off her paws leaving them raw, red and at times, bleeding. While the vet suggested we take her to Louisville to see a dog dermatologist — a run in between the dog and a prenatal vitamin led us to discover that fish oil is a natural anti-inflammatory for dogs. So, I frequently take fish oil pills, poke holes in them and spray the smelly liquid all over her food. It worked for the first half of summer, at least. FOR THE RECORD: I’m very sympathetic when it comes to the miserable itching. Elliott is going through a growth spurt leaving my belly stretched, dry and itching like mad. I feel like one of those bears in the Nat Geo shows that is constantly rubbing against trees to satiate the itching.

So within the last 48 hours, the odd couple that is Lily (Oscar) and myself (Felix) have come to a head. Between the late night crying/snarl fests, the refusal to go outside to relieve herself, her biting/snapping at my hand when I tried to give her straight fish oil (how dare I try to relieve her pain) and her general neediness coupled with my post-camp exhaustion, hormone driven, uncomfortable [insert any body part], simultaneous joy/fear complex regarding the impending arrival of the baby — it’s been a tense home.

Things finally erupted when, after an hour and a half of being locked in a guest room with her crying and shaking while we were having the carpets professionally cleaned (because *someone* has accidents), and no less than 20 minutes after sending the gentlemen on his way, she trotted into our freshly shampooed master bedroom and peed…walking triumphantly back into the kitchen where I was folding issues. And no, there was no barking or signaling that she needed to go out. She knows to let me know.

Additionally, anyone who knows me knows that I have odor issues. I have three bottles of body spray and deodorant in my office. And Lysol. And airfreshener. I also have a deep rooted fear that when people come to visit our home that they secretly think our house smells like ‘dog’. So I constantly have air fresheners and candles burning for guests. I’m not a neat freak, but I have a pathology when it comes to stinks. I also hate our grime collecting carpet, but that’s another issue.

So after cleaning and moving furniture in preparation for the 9 a.m. arrival of carpet cleaners…the carpet cleaners who will work to insure that when I bring my infant son home in a few weeks his first baby thought isn’t “What a freakin’ dump”…and holding/nurturing/caring for a freaked out dog…after ALL THIS, for her to go and soil the freshly cleaned carpet. I. WAS. NOT. HAVING. IT.

Naturally, I sent Corey a text message about “Putting this [monkey-feather] dog up for adoption.” When he called to ask for clarification, a situation that simply sounded like an exercept from a Dave Barry column became the final straw – and I burst into tears.

Have you ever seen a nearly 30-year old, full-term pregnant woman weep while cleaning dog pee out of the carpet? I mean – I’m pretty sure it’s something straight out of a Toni Collette movie. But lemme tell you…it ain’t pretty. The dog hid under the couch and the bed. I think at one point I yelled at her – “I hope you’re happy! You know, I’m the one that brought you into this world!” I’m sure this phrase will resurface in 3-4 years when Elliott starts tearing into things.

Once the tears dried I calmed down and returned to folding SpeechGeek issues. Taking a break and surfing through some bookmarked pages, I came across this video I had watched in the spring and reminded myself of what a horrible person I am for yelling at my dog.

I mean good freaking grief. Now I really feel like dirt.

Later, after sleeping on top of Corey’s pillows in bed, Lily would come up to me on the couch. She jumped up, put two paws on my belly and hung her head down. We had a talk, where I asked if she knew what she did was wrong. She did. So I asked if she needed to go outside. She did. So we went, she did what she was supposed to and I said, “See how happy I am when you pee outside?” A phrase I will hopefully not have to repeat in 3-4 years when Elliott is mobile.

So, no…Lily isn’t for sale or up for adoption quite yet. When people ask if we’re worried about her with the baby – I feel confident that she’ll do fine. (At least until the baby is walking and grabbing. Then I’ll start to worry.) She’s been good with the two other little ones we’ve had visit.

For better or worse, I always have been and will be a fanatical dog lover. Perhaps it has to do with some of my youngest childhood memories. Stories my parents would tell of a poodle mutt named Snowball who would stand on furniture so he could peer into my playpen while I slept, accompanied by photos of him guarding my crib. Granted, not all dogs are suited for small children. But I think dogs are fairly smart and realize when something is tiny, fragile and an important part of the new family. Or in Lily’s case, “Holy cow, there is something as tiny as me in this place that isn’t made of polyester…I better be careful.”

It’s tough being tiny. I’m sure it’s nerve wracking to hear a steam cleaner roar when your ears make up 2/3′s of your head. It’s probably a scary experience for a little dog, just like getting ready to have a baby can be a scary experience for a new mom. Here’s hoping that both of us will be a bit more careful around the house – and that everyone’s pee ends up in its appropriate destination.