HOW TO BECOME A CRAZY DOG MOM IN JUST SIX MONTHS

It’s been a rough year, I’ll admit it. I lost a dear friend and had major surgery. I struggled with my antidepressants not working properly. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about life’s problems, big and small, it’s this — you can always throw a dog on it.

Burying your problems under a pile of puppies is literally the easiest way to make yourself happy. Well, that and taking Vitamin D. But mostly puppies.

My puppy problem solving journey started last March, when, after several false starts, my girlfriend and I finally adopted our first dog, Peggy. She’s a Yorkie-Shi Tzu cross, which means she’s fucking bonkers. Honestly, I don’t know much about dog breeds, but this dog is crazy. During her first couple of weeks, she cried all night. Then she figured out how to pee on everything. And finally, when we were exhausted and everything we owned was covered in urine, she started barking at every noise happening in our condo building, as well as obsessively watching the streets below to make sure no one was doing anything she disapproved of.

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After a few months of this, we decided Peggy wasn’t torturing us as much as she used to, so it was time to add some fresh meat to the mix. I started to scour the Petfinder.com listings for someone extra special, someone who could ruin our lives and our furniture at the same time.

Enter Monty. When we got him, he was just three pounds, with a crooked little tail and a ferret foster brother for a best friend. We took an emotionally trying voyage to Rochester, NY, to snatch up the demon. He was a rescue from the Carolinas, where all shelters are kill shelters. (I guess they got tired of wiping up pee? I kind of get that.)

My girlfriend very thoughtfully bought Monty a soft towel to snuggle with in his crate, and he very thoughtfully shredded it to pieces while scream-crying all night in the hotel room in Henrietta, NY. (Beautiful town. I highly recommend both their Wendy’s AND their Tim Hortons.)

Monty is half terrier, half Chihuahua. Which means he likes to yip, whine, groan and grumble, but also has the hottest hellfarts you’ve ever smelled, and is VERY skilled at peeing on throw pillows, bed pillows, heck — even his sister’s bed!

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When the dogs finally stopped trying to bite each other’s eyes out, they started bonding, which was sweet. We will never forget the adorable day that we walked in on tiny little Monty earnestly attempting to face-fuck his sister Peggy, tiny little red lipstick out and everything. Adorable! Puppies, amirite?

Having dogs is soooo humbling, y’all. You will never feel more grounded than when you are scooping up steaming hot, soft-serve consistency dog shit off of the sidewalk in front of your neighborhood’s fanciest restaurant, with the patrons inside looking on in disgust. And don’t let me forget to mention that this will happen EVERY time you forget to pack a little poo-poo bag, so you’ll be scraping said poop off the ground with an empty cigarette pack you fished out of a trashcan. Don’t get me started on when they start to squat down to drop one off in the middle of the city’s busiest intersection. It’s more centering than yoga, sincerely.

Got a favourite family heirloom or cherished memento? Yeah, your dog’s gonna eat that. You like your furniture? Nope, not anymore. You like sleeping in on cold days? ABSOLUTELY NEVER. You are doing the lord’s work here, and it will show on the exhaustion lines on your face. And your brow furrows will deepen exponentially.

Ever had a tiny, frog-like Chihuahua scrape the shit out of you with his gangly legs while you try to gently lower him into a bath? It’s like heaven, those oozing scratches up and down your arms. Dogs really are God’s little angels!

Dogs getting surgery is another one of the little gifts of pet ownership. A dog that literally munches his own poo will never take a pill, no matter how carefully it is disguised in a delicious meatball. Dogs are idiots, except when it comes to avoiding taking medication that will save their life or take their post-surgery pain away. Sweet doopy-faced little dum dums!

Ever have an adorable, feisty puppy wag its sweet little puppy tail and then promptly bite a cold sore off your face? I have, and I can only relay to you that it was the sweetest, most adorable time I wanted to murder a creature under ten pounds. Blessed — that’s just what I am! Sorry to brag, folks!

All jokes aside, my dogs truly are assholes. But they are the cutest, sweetest, most wonderful little assholes, and if I love-hate my future children even one-tenth as much as I love-hate my dogs, then motherhood is going to be the most magical curse of my entire life.

For more on the cursed beasts Peggy and Monty, or the author, please check them out on Instagram.

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