I know it seems like every post in the past week has been about dogs, dogs, and more dogs. There’s a reason: my whole life right now is dogs, dogs, and more dogs. It’s not a bad thing per se, except when it is forty-five minutes before my alarm is scheduled to detonate and I have one crying Shiba Inu gnawing on my face because she wants to get off the bed and go pee on the floor. (This happens every morning. Let me impress this upon you: EVERY SINGLE MORNING WITHOUT FAIL.)
Nonetheless, I am actually happy with this messy little arrangement. Each walk, each feeding, each moment is an endless string of amusing moments: Aisha has become outgoing and bold, and is constantly flopping around like a spasmodic jellyfish or biting parts of Kobe to get his attention. To his credit, Kobe is charmingly playful and tolerant as Aisha pulls his tail, bites his ears, and swats him on the face, but he did retaliate this morning by head-butting her clear across the room.
I can’t imagine what life would be like if these were actual children. People who have one child and then willingly opt to have more are clinically insane. There are moments when I want to strangle both dogs with my bare hands, moments where I am dressed and already late for work and Aisha decides to pee on the carpet, and continues to pee down my skirt as I struggle to get her and Kobe outside, where they immediately start wrestling and become hopelessly entangled and slathered with mud. If these were actual children, I’d be begging CPS to come and PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST TAKE THE CHILDREN FROM ME. But I’ve learned to stop and laugh, and realize that when the pee on my skirt dries, I’m the only one who knows it’s there.