By: Ann Brown
God help me, we have a puppy.
She’s my change-of-life puppy; the puppy I had post-menopause, when I thought I was too old to even have another puppy. I mean, I stopped getting my period, like, ten years ago. Or maybe two years ago. I can’t remember. I am so fucking tired from the damn puppy I can’t think. This morning I brushed my teeth with Moroccan Hair Oil paste. Didn’t even rinse. Why bother?
Now I remember why I was such a bitch when my kids were little. I was EXHAUSTED.
So I’m at the vet for her nine-week shots, sitting in the waiting room with all these other puppy moms. Every single one of them is about half my age and a quarter my weight. They are women who – when asked to put their dogs on the scale that is in plain sight of everyone else in the waiting room – they STEP UP ON IT with their dogs. Yeah, they claim it’s because their dogs won’t step on it without them, but they are not fooling me.
People who weigh themselves for sport are a category unto themselves. A category of folks who, let’s just say, will not be joining the rest of us up at the big Bed, Bath and Beyond. And people who weigh themselves for sport in public, and then say shit like, “Omigod, look at this! When I am on the scale with Bruno and Buster (her two 500 lb Great Danes), the scale says 160 pounds! Can you imagine if I really weighed that much?” Those people? Yeah, well, if I hadn’t used up all my vitriol for Michelle Bachman this week, I’d have a lot more to say about them.
The only way I am going to survive this puppy is to raise her like she is my spoiled grandchild. I am too fucking tired to do a good job this time around. As far as I am concerned, she can do whatever she likes -eat whatever she wants to eat, never do her homework, bite the mail carrier and smoke weed in her crate – so long as I can get some sleep at night and watch my stories on TV in the afternoons.
Oh, and I am going to eschew the dog park this time around, as well. Frankly, I am not interested in meeting anyone else in my life – I hardly get to see the people I already know – and I don’t have it in me anymore to stand around and discuss dogs, for fuck’s sake. I want to discuss, I don’t know, my arthritic knee and why I can’t digest cooked tomatoes anymore.
I will take my puppy on walks in the regular park, however, because I really need to get off my ass once a day. That is the best benefit of having had a change-of-life dog baby.
Well, that, and – from what I remember the doctor said the last time I had a baby – I can’t have sex for six weeks.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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