…BY GUEST CONTRIBUTOR JULIE
I’m so over having a dog.
11am and Dash hasn’t been outside yet to do his business. For like, the whole morning.
Time to get moving.
But, it’s raining and I’ve got a big umbrella, a dog and a leash to hang onto as I try to get outside. And, like always, Dash goes nutzo when anyone opens the front door.
Of course my stupid dog is pulling in 360 different directions INTO all the puddles that he CAN’T SEE. Yet he doesn’t really like being in the rain or getting wet. Go figure.
We walk and walk and walk around our courtyard. He’s getting wet, won’t go and the socks are falling off my ankles down to my toes because the rain boots are lame.
After he FINALLY finds a spot to poop (he got distracted at a few other places he chose – even after all getting into Squat Position) I go to pick it up. Of course it’s huge because he didn’t go last night due to – you guessed it – RAIN. It takes 3-4 “grabs” to get it all with the flimsy bag/glove I’m using.
Well, wouldn’t you know it the bag has a hole at the bottom/top and it gets all over my hand, then falls on the ground.
So I get another bag and try to pick up the busted bag along with the rest of the crap. Remember, I’m holding the dog, leash AND a 10 foot wide umbrella. My socks are falling off. And I’ve got dog poop on my hand. My GOOD hand! The pieces of poo keep falling and I decide I really don’t care about what’s still on the lawn and walk towards trash/house.
Dash now wants to go run around. I don’t think so my furry little four-legged Stevie Wonder.
I juggle all the figurative crap I’m holding, plus a bag of REAL crap pulling/walking towards the community trashcan. I manage to get it into the trash, but the spring-loaded lid slams down on the bag as it sits there half-in, half-out. ARGH!
I turn to go back to our place and Dash takes off and I drop the leash, but, like a stupid, I go to grab it. With my poopy hand. The “handle” part of the leash. Now I’ve got crap on the leash too! And my socks are making me nuts. And I’m wet. I really hate having pets.
I maneuver dog and the rest of me to the house and he starts pulling towards the flowerbeds. Muddy, mulchy flowerbeds.
NO! NOT HAVING IT!
Finally I get to the door and he wants to run inside, but I have to take off (crappy) leash, put down flood-worthy umbrella and dry him off with a towel. I at least had the foresight to get that ready before this whole adventure started.
Can’t decide what to do with the leash. Wash it? Bleach it? I grab a can of Lysol and spray it down in the garage. Then I throw it away. Now I’m going to cut off my hand.
I’m so over having a dog.
So. Over. It.