A bitch post.
Because it will make me feel better.
I love my dogs. They are great, and I'm totally good with being the crazy dog lady.
They are a part of what I will call my therapy.
However, Remy, man. I love this dog, obviously, because I've had him near five years, and would not have kept him if I really didn't love him.
He is an exercise in commitment.
But he doesn't listen for shit, has the worst neuroses ever, shakes uncontrollably and digs into the carpet when it rains (not thunderstorms, just frickin sprinkling) has chewed every door or door frame in this apartment, will piss and shit on the floor when I am downstairs working (because he knows I'm home...not for any lack of letting him out)...and the whining, and the constant shedding, and the sometimes-biting when you try to play with a toy with him (because I don't think anyone ever taught him to play)...and yikes.
This dog is a mess. And he's STILL about 45 times better than he was when I first got him.
And he's STILL a pretty messed up animal, and probably made more messed by the chaos in this household. And even though its no longer chaotic, he still carries all of these really terrible, really hard to put up with, traits.
But over the years, he's gotten better.
Marginally.
And that's okay...he deserves a peaceful last leg of the journey.
But he pissed on my floor while I was out front doing yard work. And it smells. And he always pisses in the exact.same.spot every time, and so that spot is getting pretty gross, in spite of the dog-cleaner sprays I should probably invest stock in.
I have carpeting. Nice carpeting.
Dammit.
Other than that, I went out front today.
And did two hours worth of yard work.
And didn't feeling anxious, or agoraphobic, or any of that.
I did that, and felt okay.
That felt like a really big step, even if that sounds kinda lame. It really was, and I don't think anyone can really understand that.
I love my dogs. They are great, and I'm totally good with being the crazy dog lady.
They are a part of what I will call my therapy.
However, Remy, man. I love this dog, obviously, because I've had him near five years, and would not have kept him if I really didn't love him.
He is an exercise in commitment.
But he doesn't listen for shit, has the worst neuroses ever, shakes uncontrollably and digs into the carpet when it rains (not thunderstorms, just frickin sprinkling) has chewed every door or door frame in this apartment, will piss and shit on the floor when I am downstairs working (because he knows I'm home...not for any lack of letting him out)...and the whining, and the constant shedding, and the sometimes-biting when you try to play with a toy with him (because I don't think anyone ever taught him to play)...and yikes.
This dog is a mess. And he's STILL about 45 times better than he was when I first got him.
And he's STILL a pretty messed up animal, and probably made more messed by the chaos in this household. And even though its no longer chaotic, he still carries all of these really terrible, really hard to put up with, traits.
But over the years, he's gotten better.
Marginally.
And that's okay...he deserves a peaceful last leg of the journey.
But he pissed on my floor while I was out front doing yard work. And it smells. And he always pisses in the exact.same.spot every time, and so that spot is getting pretty gross, in spite of the dog-cleaner sprays I should probably invest stock in.
I have carpeting. Nice carpeting.
Dammit.
Other than that, I went out front today.
And did two hours worth of yard work.
And didn't feeling anxious, or agoraphobic, or any of that.
I did that, and felt okay.
That felt like a really big step, even if that sounds kinda lame. It really was, and I don't think anyone can really understand that.