A while back, I changed our outgoing message on the answering machine. Then a friend called that I hadn’t talked to in a while, and she left me a message.
When I returned her call she asked, “When did you get a dog?”
“We didn’t. That was Jensen.”
Pregnant pause. “I see.”
But she really didn’t. She was just being polite.
For the longest time, Jensen thought he was a dog.
Which worked kind of well, since Emme really wanted one. If you’ll recall, one of my first posts was about Emme’s imaginary dog named “Barko.” But I stand firm on the “no more pets clause” that I invoked after bearing the 3 children.
But still, she feels she can wear me down. After all these years. Last week, she begged me to take her to the pet store. The one that has special “stalls” that you can pick out a cute little thousand dollar puppy and bond with right there in the store.
Because her father made the ghastly mistake of taking her there once when I was otherwise occupied at the nearby Kohl’s. Trying on non-mom jeans.
Oh who am I kidding. There was a good deal of stretch in them. So they are mom jeans. What the heck ever.
Anyhoo. After a week of exemplary behavior exhibited by Emme, I agreed that we could go to the pet store on Saturday. Because I involuntarily hit myself over the head with the stupid stick.
And we decided to make it a family affair.
Fiddledaddy took the kids into the pet store while I lingered as long as I could in any other store but that one. Finally, I gave in and joined them in the stall. Where they had selected a playful little golden retriever puppy.
Who took a special liking to my sneakers.
Since I was wearing all black, I sat on the floor with the others of my family. And let “Goldie” shed all over me. Cailey stayed up on the bench, with her feet tucked up underneath her.
Cailey desperately wants a dog, but is afraid of them.
Afraid of them. This is the same Cailey who rides the scary roller coasters at Disney World, and can wrestle both brother and sister to the ground. At the same time. All while kicking their rear sides in a game of Wii.
At some point, as I watched Emme holding Goldie, I began to cry. An unattractive kind of ugly cry. Surprising everyone in the stall.
I don’t even like dogs.
Leading me to believe that I’m experiencing some sort of wild hormonal flux. But within a span of 20 minutes, all 3 of the Fiddle females had been in tears. So indeed, misery loves company. And Fiddledaddy deserves a case of wine. But that’s beside the point.
The time came to tear ourselves away from Goldie. I asked, out of morbid curiosity, how much she was. “Only $999.00.”
Not that we would EVER consider buying a dog from a puppy mill. What with all the sweet dogs that need rescuing from the pound. So don’t even start on me.
And NO, our next field trip will most definitely NOT be to the pound. I don’t care how well behaved everyone is. I couldn’t take it.
On the bright side, we still have Jensen, as I like to remind everyone. And he sounds more dog-like than ever, what with his cold and all.
In fact, tonight while he was in the bath I told him he needed me to use the booger sucker on him. (You know, those bulb things that suck the mucous right out of your nose, and is synonymous with torture.)
He replied with, “NO WAY.”
“I’ll give you a dollar.”
“What’s a dollar?”
I forgot that his currency is more along the lines of a package of Lightning McQueen Gummy Treats.
And with that he went back to playing with his puke bowl. The puke bowl is a large metal kitchen bowl that he’s been hauling around all day just in case he needed to puke.
It has also doubled today as a hat, a chair, a weapon, and did indeed put in some time as an actual puke bowl. And after Junior is blissfully asleep, it will make a guest appearance in the dishwasher.
We may not have a dog, but we certainly have a sweet little boy. Who sounds a good deal like a sleeping Schnauzer right about now.