“Honey, this boy needs a dog,” says my mom. She’s referring to Boychild, who has fallen in love with mom’s step-dog, Spike. Boychild and Spike became fast friends when visiting Georgia. Let me clarify: Boychild followed Spike around like a stalker, calling for him, trying to feed him, petting him, just loving on him TOO WELL and TOO MUCH. Spike very gently tried to avoid my child’s affections. He wagged and walked away, but my child is persistent and was convinced that Spike was his soulmate. Spike’s subtle rebuffing was ineffective. My child decided he wanted to live with Spike, so he moved into his doghouse, blankie and all, displacing the object of his affection.That didn’t sit well with the dog who with ears back and tail tucked, took his eviction as a mark of shame and hid under the porch for the remainder of the evening.

He does need a dog. He does. His birth dog was a terrific Golden Retriever named Sue, and she put up with a whole lotta sh!t from him. He gave her regular dental checks, poked her in the eyes and used her like a living playground, really. She was his Golden Recliner and he sat on her often. She was amazingly tolerant, and I don’t know what we did to deserve such a great dog. Goldens, man. Goldens.

Here’s the thing, though. I’ve already got too many asses in the house. Too many buttholes that require attention. We have 2 cats and one diaper-wearin’ toddler. I’m really not up for another errant hiney walkin’ around not knowing where to poop.

Another thing? Dogs are expensive, require training and they smell. I know I live in Vermont. I know I’m supposed to prefer dogs over cats- hell in Vermont, you’re practically mandated to drive a Subaru and own a Golden Retriever. I know this. And I do love dogs. I am a PETTING MACHINE when it comes to dogs. But I’m just not ready to have a toddler and a puppy. Unless I put them both on leashes and bathe them together. Hey- wait, that’s actually a good idea!  But we do have two great cats. Cats who let Boychild squash them with his weight and put blankets on their heads- well, we have one cat who will let him do these things. The other cat opts out and hides in her hammock that she’s clawed for herself out of the lining of the under-couch.

Plus, what if we get a dog and it turns out to be a jerk? Dimples, my mother’s sweater-wearing Chihuahua was a real turd. He’d snarl, growl and bite at you if  you came close to him. And I’m pretty sure he cheated on his taxes. In fairness to the dog, we also had a cat that would attack my sister every time she wore yellow and blue argyle socks. Those socks were tragic, so maybe he was just trying to help? But then again, he also ate her baby hamsters. What was wrong with my family’s pets? I’ll try and let those mistakes inform my future decisions. No ugly socks. No dog sweaters.

So, we might get a dog one day. I dunno. Sue left a pretty big legacy. This next dog better be amazing. Or we could always get another cat  . . .