Post Dramatic Stress Syndrome

Our family does not have an impressive track record with pets. In fact, we have inadvertantly caused premature death to a quiet helpless lizard, an adorable fluffy Guniea Pig, and countless fish.

Personally, I am tired of the burden of so much death and carnage.  Unfortunately, our lack of ability to keep the few creatures we have cared for, or at least attempted to care for, alive, has not slowed my childrens' intent to continue to beg for more pets. 

Recently D1 has picked up the oral arguments with me on this subject.  Apparently she wanted creatures that belong in lakes and rivers to live in her bedroom more desperately than I originally thought.  In exasperation she finally stomped out of my bedroom.  A little while later, she slipped this under my bedroom door:

Why I Should Have a Fish

by (D1)

1. It is a great responsibility lesson for me...and my future.
2. My friend has given me great advise about what fish are easy to take care of and how to take care of them, and she will supply supplies.
3. I would love the fish like my brothers and sisters and care for them always.
4. I know where I can get cheap but good fish and I'm willing to keep up with the fish.
5. I will do my best to find fish that are low maintenance but fun.

If I do not get fish side affects may include, thoughts of suicide, chronic depression, nausea, insomnia, post dramatic stress syndrome, and series of violent mood swings.  A serious but rare side affect may include schizophrenia resulting in multiple personalities and frequent conversations with imaginary objects, people, fish and places.  

If any of these side affects occur, do not operate machinery or perform manual labor of any kind.  If side affects do not lessen with in a few days consult your local Petco store for further advice.

Thou Shalt Have No Other Dogs Before Me

WARNING: EXPLICIT IMAGE

D1 is typically an early riser and more than once has presented us with stunning morning news.

When she was seven she gleefully announced at 5:30 AM on a Saturday that Chewy - the Guinea pig we had been duped into getting for "free" only a week earlier - "Had her babies!"

A few years ago, she was the first to alert us to what would be a weeks long restoration nightmare when she told us the kitchen hardwood floor had turned into a swimming pool overnight thanks to a clog in the kitchen drain.

This morning I realized D1 was up when I heard tearful, soulful moaning about her, "poor dog." Thinking that something awful must have happened to Cookie, I was terrified to hear the news. Choking in between sobs, she presented me with her latest toy that DH purchased for her at a gas station yesterday afternoon.

It used to be small dog in a dog bed. I thought its long hair made it look like a creepy mouse, but to each his own.

Apparently I was not the only one that found the gas station toy repulsive. Sometime in the night our real dog Cookie escaped from the mudroom and tracked down the creepy, mouse-dog, beloved treasure. Using her superior canine sense of smell - that is if you can count obstinate, prissy Shih Tzu's as part of the canine phylum - she embarked on a skillful game of search and destroy.

Cookie was victorious. The creepy mouse-dog never had a chance.

I Am My Dog and My Dog is Me?

An article in the Sunday paper has me in a panic. It explores the possibility that our pets are a reflection of our inner selves. If this is true I am in a world of hurt.

First of all my Shih-Tzu, named Cookie, is 20% heavier than the average dog of her breed. Hmmm…I don’t have anything to say on this subject except, so far, not looking so good.

Secondly, she is a mess. When she was younger I would take her to the groomer regularly to style her coiffure and trim her nails. Now, I’ve come to accept that she is a family dog, not royalty, and she runs around most of the time looking like a rag muffin. If that is a reflection on me, my expensive new hair straightening iron is not doing its job.

Perhaps worst of all, Cookie is a barking, raving lunatic. My neighbors must truly be saints, because not one of them has tried to feed her rat poison, yet. I know I too can be full of jibber jabber, especially when I get the opportunity to converse with people who experienced puberty before President George W. Bush came to office, but I hope no one sees me as a yapping crazy lady.

Finally, the saddest realization is: (all you animal lovers just close your eyes for the next few words) I hate my dog. Not that I wish her any harm, at least not permanent harm, but most days, I just detest her food, her smell, her mess and her uppity ways. And if I hate my dog, what does that say about me and how I feel about myself?

All of this is is a reality I am not prepared to face. The more I think about the article, I am convinced it was published in order to drive otherwise sane housewives like me to seek professional counseling.

I feel the need to shake these disturbing thoughts and do something refreshing. Something that will make me feel whole and normal again. Where is my adorable dog? I need some matted hair to rip through with a comb.