Process Of Adopting a Dog Pt.3
The Process Of Adopting A Dog
“A Guide To Self Torture And Agony”
Part 3: A Farewell To All Things Civilized
Michael Goodwin
Dog ownership, like most forms of torture, breaks down into a matter of routine. You will now find yourself in the Hell of repetition (like a prison sentence) for the next few weeks. In this crucial period, you will rocket past the five stages of grief for your old life (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance) and be plunged into one easy to remember step: Exhaustion.
Your new little buddy will hate sleep almost as much as they hate life. While they try at all times of the day to devour all manner of deadly objects, they will do so on an hour of sleep at a time. Somehow, this particular organism can survive by sleeping an hour, waking up and “Jaws”-ing their way through your house (and through you) for an hour, only to sleep again. You will bleed. You will cry. It will never end.
The thing that all the movies and commercials about dogs don’t tell you is that a puppy’s teeth are needle sharp. There exists nothing better at rending flesh from bone and value from objects than the tooth of a puppy. It is disturbing how effective they are at mayhem and pain (someone should alert the military, they should pack artillery shells with these things.) Generations of evolution have produced a mouth full of these god awful things with overdeveloped jaw pressure and aimed it right at you (with a wagging little tail to propel it faster.) Keeping in mind the animal is naturally torpedo shaped and their hair is surprisingly hard to grip, and you have yourself the perfect assassin of joy and that you apparently taste awesome. So congratulations, the first part of dog your ownership routine is pain (and slight blood loss.)
Not an easy way to say this, but with all that stuff going into the vile little thing, it stands to reason it has to go somewhere. This leads to the second part of your routine: Waste Removal Engineer.
Something happens in the body of an animal, something peculiar and not fully understood by science. Mass, both solid and fluid, exponentially grow. A dog can eat a pellet of food the size of a grape, and about two minutes later, a “gorilla arm” will be dropped. A tablespoon of water erupts into a geyser to rival Yellowstone (it too will be yellow though.) In lieu of all this, all manner of cleaning, scrubbing, swearing and walling off sections of your house will be in order. Carpet cleaner, stain remover and all manner of odor eliminators will be your ally in the “War Of The Smells. You will never fully win this war, but you can make it tolerable (until you move, then it’s the new owner’s problem, call it collateral damage.)
Another aspect of your new life is a new acquaintance: The Vet. There indeed is a medical professional that specializes in snapping, snarling beasts (they are called pediatricians.) This new associate provides all the immunizations, tests and medications for the duration of your little plague bearer’s life (or yours, these next few weeks? I give you 50-50 odds of jumping off a bridge.) They will also certify that your ravenous little beast is not in fact rabid (I want a second opinion) and help you register your monster with the state. Congratulations, your dog is now street legal (sometimes the system fails us.)
This leads to the next, and some would argue the most important part of the routine: Escape. Yes, at some point you will feel the need to inflict your curse upon the masses. This will necessitate that most hallowed of dog owning traditions: The Walk.
Yes, rain or shine you will be expected to leash the hairy vandal and let them rampage throughout the land. Piles of leaves, squirrels, skunks and the elderly will all be fair game for the hunt. So be prepared to use the word “No” to obscene degrees while clutching a leash attached to a fleshy battering ram. They will also find that the only thing better than smelling every rock and mailbox, is doing it twice, daily. They will smell the same tree they’ve seen every day as if it’s never been seen by them before. So while you’re standing in a blizzard being pelted by icicles, rest assured that Fluffy is making sure that dead weed isn’t really an imposter from Planet X.
Unfortunately, there is another, more vile purpose to walking the hound. It requires a bag, a strong gag reflex and the ability to have no sense of self-respect. You will be tasked with following “The Amazing Walking Colon” and picking up his spawn from the grasses of the masses, then carrying it in a bag until you find a proper refuse container (or mailbox, I guess. I mean, it’s illegal, but you won’t get the “Stinky Pinky” from carrying a bag o’ feces for a mile. So it’s a trade off.) As an aside, there is a small question of morality here. Instead of picking up the offending pile, you could always pretend to do so. Sure, it’s repugnant, but so is dog crap. In winter, you could even brush some snow over it while pretending to pick it up. You then simply walk away holding an empty bag until you are out of sight, at which time it goes back into your pocket. Never do this of course, I just added it for something to think about (you’ll do more than think about it.)
With your routine ending, you will enter the final phase: Reward. Yes, all manner of treats will reinforce the bond between you and your minion. All of them horrible. Yes, from pig ears to “Bully Sticks” (Google it, seriously, it’s appalling. You’ll never be able to look at a butcher again.) There are all manner of bones and antlers as well (kinda like rootin’ around in Bambi’s graveyard.) No matter which of the grisly trophies you choose to present to ol’ Bitey, at least they’ll stop chompin’ on you for a few seconds, and that’s all you can hope for for the first few weeks.
So if the last three articles haven’t convinced you to flee from anything even remotely needing a haircut, then life with a dog may be for you (foolish, foolish person.) A dog will provide you years of comfort (or so I’m told, still waitin’ on one day of that,) companionship (you will never sit on a toilet alone again) and years of happy memories (yes, I remember being happy once, guess when that changed…) So enjoy these first few months of an amazing journey down a road you and your new friend will take, one step at a time (grab a bag, ‘cause they ate a slipper and that ol’ boy is comin’ out sideways.)
