The Last 10 Years - Chapter 9 - Pets

Part 1: The Cat
Brent had pets growing up but I didn't. My mom is not an animal lover. We had the occasional goldfish that my dad flushed down the toilet a few days after we got it because it died, but that was it. When Brittany was 3 she wanted a cat for Christmas. Brent was okay with it and I decided I'd give it a try. I'd come across an ad from an elderly couple that had a house cat they could no longer care for. The cat was free and had been "fixed" and de-clawed and house-trained. It also had no ears.

My family had come to Halifax to spend Christmas with us that year. They took the girls out for an afternoon while Brent and I went to see the cat. She was very timid. We decided to take her home. Brittany was so excited Christmas morning but the cat wouldn't have a thing to do with her, it was so scared. And Brooklyn, who was about 15 months old was just about gave the poor animal a heart attack.

We named our cat Chloe. It took a long time, but she did relax and warm up to us. She even got comfortable with Brooky. She was very gentle cat and kept to her self. Chloe would sit on the couch next to us while we watched TV and sometimes she'd sleep on the foot of our bed.

Chloe was a weird cat. She had this odd fixation with shoes, especially mine. We frequently found her curled up on top of a shoe sleeping. Sometimes she just liked to smell shoes.

Sadly, after Damon was born, I just could not tolerate the cat any more. (Please don't send me hate mail or comments about being a responsible pet owner.) For me, a cat and a new baby were not a good mix. We found a nice lady to take Chloe. She didn't have any kids, which Chloe probably appreciated. And anyway, we would not have been able to bring her back to Utah with us.

Part 2: The Damn Dog
It was January 2006. Brent had been saying for quite a while that we needed a dog. I was a little unsure as to whether or not this was a good idea. I didn't think it would be fair to an animal to keep it chained up in the backyard all the time so it only made sense to have an "inside" dog. But I really didn't think I wanted that responsibility, especially with a puppy.

Since I had adamantly insisted that I would not be pushing out any more babies, Brent figured a dog would be the perfect finishing touch to our family. He told me a gal from work bred labs and had a litter almost ready to go. So, against my will, he bought one. We named her Ellie and she was so cute but I soon grew to hate her. Labrador puppies have way too much energy and puppies, in general, are messy. They poop and pee everywhere. I got so frustrated. When I get mad and frustrated I swear. Always have. (Note: Some of you readers didn't know that about me. I'm not as innocent as you thought. But thats who I am and what I do so take me or leave me. I have a few favorite words and then there are a few others that will never cross my lips.) I began referring to that black ball of fur as "the damn dog". Unfortunately, I said that one too many times in front of Brooklyn. One Sunday morning she came upstairs, looked around the kitchen, and just as if it were a perfectly normal question, she asked, "Where's the damn dog?"

One day I was so mad I decided to get rid of Ellie. (Yes, I know you're wondering how I could possilby want to get ride of something so cute.) I had been telling Brent to give her away but he would just shrug it off and tell me to be patient. Well, he wasn't the one at home all day cleaning up the messes and making sure nothing was left out that was going to get chewed on. I called Brent at work and said the dog would be gone when he got home that day and if he had a problem with that then he could leave too. I started calling animal shelters from the Yellow Pages. I found one guy that was willing to take her but then I started feeling really guilty so I told him never mind.

Another time when I was really mad I put an ad in the newspaper. I got quite a few calls on that one. One person was really interested and was ready to come get Ellie, but again, I was overcome with guilt. Not to mention that we'd put quite a bit of money into this dog by this time(we'd had her for 6 months). We'd gotten her shots and she'd been spayed.

After that, I 'm not sure what happened but eventually I didn't hate her so much anymore. She quit barking all the time (thanks to the bark collar) and had learned she couldn't do her business in the house. We also taught her that she was not allowed in the living room. Now, Ellie is just part of the family. We all love her, especially Damon. They are good friends and Ellie is so tolerant of him. When we get in the car to go somewhere, especially if I have to open the tailgate to put something in the back, she'll just hop right in, thinking she gets to go too.

Ellie is also a great big wimp. She gets scared of other dogs, even the really little ones and she is petrified of the vacuum. If she thinks I'm getting the vacuum out she bolts down the stairs and hides until I'm finished.

Ellie likes people food. (What dog doesn't?) Some of her favorites are any kind of meat or bread, cookies, chips and Junior Mints. She does not like raw broccoli, lettuce or mustard.

Ellie has alleriges. I spend more money taking her to vet and buying meds for her than I do for my human kids. Last fall the vet informed me that Ellie was overweight and needed to lose 15 pounds. Well, that will never happen.

There have been times when Ellie has truly deserved the afore mentioned title. For example, one Sunday this past Winter I made cookies. They were chocolate cookies with big chunks of chocolate in them. (I was trying imitate the Superstore cookies. You Haligonians know what I'm talking about. They are my favorite. I miss those!) We left to visit some neighbors and when we came home I went to get a cookie. They were no where to be found, not even a crumb. I was puzzled. I wondered if we'd been robbed. Then I looked at the floor and noticed the dish towel I'd sat them on. Ellie had pulled the towel off the counter and eaten every last one of my cookies, all 2 1/2 dozen! I was furious. Those were mine! (I'm not good at sharing when it comes to my treats.)

I did finally forgive Ellie for bingeing all my cookies, but I am much more careful about where I leave baked goods now. She is good company. When I come home from running in the mornings and I sit on the floor to stretch Ellie sits right next to me. Sometimes she even tries to sit in my lap. She is my shadow, follows me around all day long, and when I get into bed at night, she plops down on the floor and goes to sleep, too.No, I do not take her running with me. She starts out so fast that she nearly pulls my shoulder out of the socket and after about 1/2 mile she is so tired (because she's fat and lazy) that I end up dragging her home.