I got a puppy.

Yep. With all of the things I have going on in my life, I decided to adopt a dog. Before you ask, she’s 4 months old, her name is Pikachu (name courtesy of Boychild) and she is a lab/ pitbull/ terrier mix that I adopted from the local shelter.

I remember visiting my mom when Boychild was maybe two? He really loved her dog and she said to me, and I won’t forget this, “That boy needs a dog.” That stuck in my head. I’m a bit self-conscious about raising an only child, so the need for a dog- need, not desire, mind you- has been swirling about in my head. Add to that my Husband’s personal folklore about his dog being his best friend growing up, the two of them foraging for berries and rambling in the Vermont forest together, completely free, completely in sync. Boy and dog=best friends. It’s a simple equation. How could I deny my lonely only son his own faithful companion? By the way, he’s not lonely. He’s fine.

When I told a colleague of mine about getting a dog, they sort of scoffed. “Like you need one more thing to take care of.” True. True. It is insanity. During the first week, the dog shat on our bed. Then peed on our bed. Then pooped and then, as I was cleaning up the poop, pooped in the same place again.

And yet. I stalked the pages of the local shelter. I discussed it with the fam. We decided to wait until after I was done with grad school and then get a dog- a great plan. So what the F&Ck was I thinking? Why get a dog now?

Honestly, y’all, I have no idea. I just knew that when I saw Pikachu’s face, I thought, “this is our dog.” I went to the shelter to meet her, and I got her. Pretty simple. For some reason unknown to even me, I wanted this dog. And what a dog she is!

So, she has giardia, which causes her butt to explode. The good news is that the sounds that come out of her are pretty hilarious at times. Like a whoopie cushion on steroids. The bad news is that it’s super-gross. It’s – well, I won’t bother you with the details, but it’s super gross, like I stated above. She is on medication, but damn, it’s not working quickly enough to suit me. We’ve managed to mostly housebreak her, but we have yet to housebreak me into taking her for a walk first thing in the morning. Dear reader, I am slow to boot. I am like an old Commodore 64. I take a while to load in the morning. My FitBit claims I spend a lot of time in deep sleep and in REM sleep, so I would like to blame that fact for me not being able to function first thing without coffee and a good thirty minutes of doing very little other than staring into the oblivion and trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am indeed still alive. The idea first of ambling out on Main Street at 6am in my men’s boxer shorts, cheeky t-shirt, sans bra with no caffeine only to have to scoop up dog shit is appalling to me. F*ck that. Why did I get a dog again? Add to this the fact that the dog has giardia and scooping poop is like trying to get an absurdly foul-smelling soft-serve ice cream into a bag with your hands, and the whole thing is just a nightmare. Just, no.

So, the morning walk is not. great. But the consequences of skipping the morning walk are worse. A few days ago, I took her out. She peed. She lead me back inside and proceeded to poop on the rug. I cleaned it up (still no coffee at this point). I go to throw out the paper towels, and she’s pooping on the rug again, not in the same spot, but about three inches to the left. ??????????

Husband has pulled me from morning duty. He likes (??????) going for a walk in the morning and can handle being upright first thing. I think it’s maybe the nicest thing a person has ever done for me. I truly do. It’s like he knows me. Knows that I can’t function. He took the reins. It’s lovely.

But more about the dog: I’ve met so many people that live right near me and whom I never would have met ever if I didn’t have a dog. Dog people. Y’all are funny! Here’s what everyone says:

Dog Person (DP): Oh, she’s so cute! What is she?
Me: She’s an everything. Like a bagel Little bit of terrier, pitbull, lab. She’s a mix.
DP: Those are the best kind. Can I pet her? Does she bite?
Me: No- she’s not a biter. You can pet her, sure. She’s a little shy around people, but she loves other dogs.
DP: How old?
Me: 4 months.
DP: Awwww. You’re just a puppy! How big is she going to get?
Me: Not sure. 40 pounds the vet said?
DP: Okay, cool. We have a (here is where they talk about their dog)

It’s really the same conversation each time and it reminds me very much of

1. Being a smoker. Smoker world has its own conventions and bonding rites, but the conversations are not about the cigarettes. Depending on the time, day and level of intoxication, a smoke break interaction can be surprisingly deep. I made so many friends over Camel Special Lights.
2. Being a mom. This was also a new world that cannot be infiltrated by outsiders. Mom world is special. Same basic questions as Dog World, though. Name? How old? Does she bite? (Here is where they talk about their kid or grandkid and give you advice)

Pikachu and I are making many new friends, though one friend I thought she’d have is Boychild. It is not working out like I’d hoped. Pika and BC are not roaming through our .25 acre plot eating raspberries together and hanging out under our one tree (Just kidding. We have three trees. Not to brag or anything). No, he is actually kind of mean to her. But, like Pikachu, he is learning. He is getting better about not hitting or kicking her, and I appreciate that. Growing up with dogs, I just took for granted that we humans had this innate understanding of dog behavior. We know they’re going to chew on everything. They need training and love. They will grab your dirty underwear and socks out of the hamper and parade them around like a fresh kill. Ya know: dog stuff. But I was incorrect. Knowledge of dog behavior is learned. Boychild sees any chewing as a direct assault on his personhood- like her chewing on his stuff is a direct, personal attack against him. We try to explain that it’s just what puppies do, but he is absolutely horrified by her very normal baby-dog behavior. When the teeth sink into a toy, tears erupt from his eyes. When she accidentally scratches him or the teeth scratch his arm, he is scandalized. Poor babe. I do check in with him now and again, ask him if he’s sorry we adopted her, how things are going, if he’s still on board with the whole dog thing. And I think we’ve made an eensy bit of progress. Last week he told me, “I like Pikachu, but I don’t love her.” That’s fine with me. Maybe love will grow? I had to tell him that I, too, like Pikachu but don’t love her. Yet. “You don’t love Pikachu? You monster! Look at her adorable face! You’re heartless” the dog-lover collective shouts in my brain.

Truth be told, I am still more of a cat person, but dang this dog is really growing on me. I feel a little sacriligeous admitting this. People love dogs, especially here in Vermont, where being a cat person labels you suspect. I like dogs, but cats are the best. They’re these little fluffy killers with adorable purrs. And my cats have thumbs, which makes them even more badass. Also, I’d rather clean a cat box once a day than try to scoop brown dog sludge into a bag four times a day. Zero stars for poop scooping. Just in case I’m being unclear, I do like Pikachu quite a bit. If we could only get her to produce some solid poops and stop chasing the cats, my like may grow into love.