Dogs

These of are the literal, not the figurative sense.  Although, be prepared to see postings of dogs in the figurative sense in the future.

Hopefully, this will reach folks that don't know me, so I feel like I need to introduce myself gradually.  For this post, I will title myself "Dog Lover and Rescuer".  I have learned that I prefer rescuing dogs that are sane and unfortunately, in my experience, that happens less often than not.  Damn it all.  This will also segue into cocktail shopping - which is, by the way a wonderful and dangerous experience - just don't do it while shopping in PetSmart.

My ladies and I love to Cocktail Shop - we have a drink and then we shop.  Then we have another drink and then we shop.  It is one of our favorite things to do and is comparable to nothing else in this God Given world.  It is orgasmic, it is therapeutic, it can be psychotic.  But chick-y mama, is it FUN.  Yes, we all have regrets after an afternoon of Cocktail Shopping, but they are usually short-lived as we can put on the pants and spray ourselves with our new good-smell stuff and the anxiety just dissipates - simply goes away.  This is an entry for a whole other time.  I digress to one of my current situations that can be assimilated to Cocktail Shopping, but in a BAD way.  Very BAD.

I took my daughter to lunch which on the weekends (and let's face it, weekdays) involves having at least 2 cocktails.  I have a stern rule - I do not go out to lunch without consuming 2 glasses of wine.  It's just not worth my time to drive to an establishment otherwise.  SO....  we had been to lunch and I needed to go to PetSmart to get dog food.  It was Pet Adoption Day - Damn It All.  My story is, I walked in for pet food and walked out with a fucking puppy.  And he has been my nemesis ever since.  I wish I could love him, but I cannot.  Let's just suffice to say - holes in back yard, window sills destroyed, couch cushions in fluff, puke/bile/piss everywhere, sick, ruin, ruin, ruin.  Oh, did I mention - he's a pit bull?

This dog was procured (and yes, just because we rescue, does NOT mean free) for my daughter.  She loves big, oaf-y canines that are supposed to protect.  I've learned over the years that I prefer the little pip-squeaks that you can ignore if need be.  I will not live with my daughter forever - as much as I love her.  This dog is accelerating the process, need I say more, in deciding where I will live and what I want to be when I grow up.  I am 44-years old, I am tired and my estrogen level is low.  I've raised a child successfully, a dog from a breeder and a rescue that was almost thrown back to the pack, but I decided to practice a patience I normally don't have.  And thank the good Lord above I did, because I love that little shit.  But this new one....  I wish I could put my arms around him and tell him he's cute and I can get over his neurosis.  Gotta tell ya - it's not happening.

So this is a "Doing What I Thought I Knew" post. I thought saving any animal was the righteous thing to do for everyone.  My blood pressure is proof that it is NOT.