Filed under: dogs, growing up, money | Tags: assholes, doctors, dogs, growing up, money, newsweek, puke, rush limbaugh
I had a conversation with a co-worker a few weeks ago about childhood. He said that he doesn’t miss being a kid. He doesn’t reminisce about fond memories of a stress-free, simple life.
Me neither. I like being an adult. When you’re a kid, you don’t have any freedom.
Goddammit.
It is so hard to write with them staring at me. Rodney is sitting ten feet from me, staring at me. Rodney is exactly halfway between me and Nick. Nick is also staring at me. Nick is whispering and whistling and laughing. Now he is snorting. Now he is slapping his thighs. Rodney runs to Nick. Rodney jumps down onto his forearms in his trademark pounce stance. He does that, and then he hops up and down 3 times. That’s what Rodney does. Now he barks once and runs to me for cover. He knows that if he barks, Nick will try to slap him. He runs back over to Nick and does it again. He runs to me. Then, he looks at Nick and he pants, his tongue slobbery and wagging. He barks one last shrill, defeated bark and collapses.
Nick yells, “Shit, Rodney!” and brings me my highlighter. It was in Rodney’s bed and it is chewed up. The foam tip is dirty and worn down and it doesn’t mark anymore. It is not out of ink, I can see the ink sloshing around inside. It simply won’t make a mark. I throw it in my office trashcan. My office trashcan is plastic and cylindrical and has a panoramic computer-generated moon-landing scene on it.
Rodney has been sick lately from eating too much random crap.
Does this make me a bad mother?
I think so.
He puked five times yesterday morning while I was asleep. I woke and found caustic piles of puke all over the kitchen. They were like landmines. I used last weeks’ Newsweek, the one with Rush Limbaugh’s fat, sweaty face on the cover, to scoop the chunky piles into a grocery bag. Suddenly, the smell hit me. It hit me so hard it made me puke into my mouth. That was the first time I’ve ever puked from puke.
I took him to the vet on Saturday. There were three other dogs in the waiting room. The dogs were all equally aggressive to each other, which made me feel better. I am not the only person with an asshole dog. When we were finally admitted into the other room, I enjoyed showing off to the fat nurse-guy with earrings that I could easily pick my dog up and put him on the steel examination table. I didn’t need his help.
Rodney put his head on my shoulder and I hugged his body with all my strength to restrain him while he had blood sucked out of his arm and mystery liquids shot into his hip.
He really trusts me.
The doctor gave me some antibiotics and anti-inflammatories and I gave the doctor $217.
It was painful for everyone, I think.
Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment
