Last night I learned that I’m not quite the dog person I thought I was.
I should back up.
I’ve never been a dog person, but I made great strides last year.
I house sat for my parents and walked their dog.
I even played with a puppy.
In thirty years, these were my first experiences with canines.
Well, first since Bubba.
Bubba was the dog my parents had when I was born.
A hyperactive mutt with David Bowie mismatched eyes.
I only remember Bubba from pictures. But, apparently, the loveable pup had a hankering for knocking me down. Repeatedly.
My parents checked all the parenting books and saw nothing about the developmental benefits of having your child assaulted by an animal.
So, sometime around my 2 year birthday, we “let another family have Bubba.”
The next 28 years were without much dog incident. I was afraid of dogs, sure. But only in the cute “grown-man-afraid-of-Fluffy” way.
The experiences last year with my parents dog and the puppy made me think that maybe I was becoming one of *them*. One of the dog lovers.
But I was snapped out of that twisted spell last night.
My girlfriend offered to house sit for friends. Friends with dogs.
Looking over the extensive “How to care for the animals” printout was my first inclination that this wasn’t for me.
The 3 puddles of piss surrounding the bed, and the pile of dog excrement in the living room confirmed my fears.
I’m not ready for a dog.
While I may be close to overcoming my Bubba fears, I….
Hold on a second.
I just stepped in cat vomit.
I can’t believe this!
Leo, my Girlfriend’s cat, has expelled his half-digested food all over the house. This I just discovered with my bare feet.
I took a step away from my computer to think of a way to end this morning writing…and the universe dished me out a squishy helping of irony.
Am I being taunted by the Domestic Animal Gods!?!?
I’m gonna go rent “Beastmaster” and watch it 6 or 7 times….before things get dangerous.