(S)Miley Cyrus and the Artist Formerly Known as Dildo Dog.
WE GOT A DOG!
On Tuesday this week, after months and months and months of talking about it, we finally bought our doggo (S)Miley Cyrus home; a three year old, black lab and Irish ex-gun dog.
We made it, with a minute to spare. An older gentleman arrived moments after us for the same dog. You see, it works on a first come, first served basis and once you see the doggo of your dreams, you’ve got to get there in person to see if they will be a good fit for your household, meet them and reserve them. My emotions that morning were swinging between feeling sorry for the old boy that we had stolen his dog to being prepared to end him in a Hunger Games style affair if it meant we got to bring Miley home.
After a chat about our experiences with ex-gun dogs, labs and cats; we took her for a walk with two of the centre staff and it became immediately apparent that the loving, happy, bouncy dog that had been described was in fact horrifically anxious, especially around short, stocky Irish men. Poor Hubs.
We had a couple more visits where we talked about housetraining (it is believed that she lived outside at her previous home), cat meeting, exercising her extraordinary mind and gun dog training. We filled our pockets with treats, had persistent patience with her and took her for walks at the facility. She started to snuggle me and smooch my face. She gradually became a little less anxious around Hubs.
And now she’s home, with us. Her family. Me, Hubs, Captain Nigglypants, Macho Meow Mandy Savage and (S)Miley Cyrus. Our little, loving and rapidly expanding family.
I. Am. So. In. Love. With. Her.
I have turned into an emotional new parent. I was so overcome with love and emotion this morning that I had a little cry in the kitchen. Instead of finding a way to hide the feelings (even I know it’s not acceptable to drown your sorrows/joys at 8am), I sat and thought about why I was so emotional.
I have never wanted children. I never wanted to be in a position where I might repeat cycles of abuse. Because we all know my flaws. I’m impatient, aggressive, volatile, emotional, easily frustrated. All traits I would attribute to the one person I am not going to be.
What I have learned this week is that I am patient. I am encouraging. I am nurturing. I am kind. I am thoughtful. I am organised. I am prepared. My life has completely changed overnight and I have calmly and excitedly taken to it like a dog to fetch. And as I realise how well I have adjusted to this new family stage we have entered, it’s made me think that maybe I could be a good parent. Maybe I could break the cycle. Maybe together, Hubs and I could bring up happy, healthy children. Or tiny feral banshees. The second option does sound like more fun.
I’ve been waiting to become an adult for my entire adulthood, is it really as easy as just deciding to be one?! Since stopping drinking, I’ve become more organised. Our house is tidier that it has even been and stuff appears to live in actual places for stuff rather than just everywhere. We’re getting fitter, losing weight, eating healthily. Okay, healthier. We’re saving money. Well, I’m saving money. Our spending is under control. I've been walking Miley this week and feeling like an actual grown up.
Are we actually adults now? I mean, we can’t remember a birthday until the day of it but still, we’re doing better than we used to… Seriously, we’ve got a fucking dog.
If we both died, the cats would find somebody else to feed them and then return to the house, climbing over our corpses for a quiet nights sleep before going back out in the morning, after shitting on my face, for more food. Macho Meow Mandy Savage would eventually make a bed inside my rib cage. They would probably pay the mortgage. Miley will eat us. And shit everywhere. And eat that. Unless the cats eat her first. Hmmm…
On the other hand, we have an office full of inflatables (think Bruce the Kangeroo and Flambe the Flamingo) touching shoulders (or horns) with my (very large) Unicorn collection and masses of Hello Kitty merchandise. We have beautiful ceramic hand painted coasters stacked with superhero coasters and self-designed “I’d rather drink the tears of my enemies” coasters.
Our TV deck is filled with Bob’s Burgers, Archer, Final Space, Mr Bean. We have a corner of the living room dedicated to board games (which I fucking hate by the way): Cards Against Humanity, Bears Vs Babies, You’ve Got Crabs. We spent most of our Summer holiday rolling around in mud. We are ridiculous. And hilarious.
So is our pooch.
Enough rambling. We have a dog. I feel like an adult. She’s luring me into a false sense of security and now I think I might want kids. No, that’s not strictly true… Now I don’t feel I would be as shit a parent as I previously thought I might be. Mind you, it’s only been two days.
Maybe ask me again next week yeah?
On Tuesday this week, after months and months and months of talking about it, we finally bought our doggo (S)Miley Cyrus home; a three year old, black lab and Irish ex-gun dog.
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| (S)Miley Cyrus with the Artist Formerly Known as Dildo Dog. |
We first went to the Dogs Trust a couple of weeks ago to look at a little old Beagle called Snoopy (aka Snoop D. O. G. G), though he could only manage thirty minute walks due to a heart murmur and so wouldn’t fit in with the walking lifestyle we lead. The next night, I found a picture of our gorgeous Miley on the new arrivals page while Hubs was on nights. I picked him up from work at 7am, allowed him three hours sleep and at 11am, we were driving to Loughborough to claim our Pupper.
We made it, with a minute to spare. An older gentleman arrived moments after us for the same dog. You see, it works on a first come, first served basis and once you see the doggo of your dreams, you’ve got to get there in person to see if they will be a good fit for your household, meet them and reserve them. My emotions that morning were swinging between feeling sorry for the old boy that we had stolen his dog to being prepared to end him in a Hunger Games style affair if it meant we got to bring Miley home.
After a chat about our experiences with ex-gun dogs, labs and cats; we took her for a walk with two of the centre staff and it became immediately apparent that the loving, happy, bouncy dog that had been described was in fact horrifically anxious, especially around short, stocky Irish men. Poor Hubs.
We had a couple more visits where we talked about housetraining (it is believed that she lived outside at her previous home), cat meeting, exercising her extraordinary mind and gun dog training. We filled our pockets with treats, had persistent patience with her and took her for walks at the facility. She started to snuggle me and smooch my face. She gradually became a little less anxious around Hubs.
And now she’s home, with us. Her family. Me, Hubs, Captain Nigglypants, Macho Meow Mandy Savage and (S)Miley Cyrus. Our little, loving and rapidly expanding family.
I. Am. So. In. Love. With. Her.
I have turned into an emotional new parent. I was so overcome with love and emotion this morning that I had a little cry in the kitchen. Instead of finding a way to hide the feelings (even I know it’s not acceptable to drown your sorrows/joys at 8am), I sat and thought about why I was so emotional.
I have never wanted children. I never wanted to be in a position where I might repeat cycles of abuse. Because we all know my flaws. I’m impatient, aggressive, volatile, emotional, easily frustrated. All traits I would attribute to the one person I am not going to be.
What I have learned this week is that I am patient. I am encouraging. I am nurturing. I am kind. I am thoughtful. I am organised. I am prepared. My life has completely changed overnight and I have calmly and excitedly taken to it like a dog to fetch. And as I realise how well I have adjusted to this new family stage we have entered, it’s made me think that maybe I could be a good parent. Maybe I could break the cycle. Maybe together, Hubs and I could bring up happy, healthy children. Or tiny feral banshees. The second option does sound like more fun.
I’ve been waiting to become an adult for my entire adulthood, is it really as easy as just deciding to be one?! Since stopping drinking, I’ve become more organised. Our house is tidier that it has even been and stuff appears to live in actual places for stuff rather than just everywhere. We’re getting fitter, losing weight, eating healthily. Okay, healthier. We’re saving money. Well, I’m saving money. Our spending is under control. I've been walking Miley this week and feeling like an actual grown up.
Are we actually adults now? I mean, we can’t remember a birthday until the day of it but still, we’re doing better than we used to… Seriously, we’ve got a fucking dog.
If we both died, the cats would find somebody else to feed them and then return to the house, climbing over our corpses for a quiet nights sleep before going back out in the morning, after shitting on my face, for more food. Macho Meow Mandy Savage would eventually make a bed inside my rib cage. They would probably pay the mortgage. Miley will eat us. And shit everywhere. And eat that. Unless the cats eat her first. Hmmm…
On the other hand, we have an office full of inflatables (think Bruce the Kangeroo and Flambe the Flamingo) touching shoulders (or horns) with my (very large) Unicorn collection and masses of Hello Kitty merchandise. We have beautiful ceramic hand painted coasters stacked with superhero coasters and self-designed “I’d rather drink the tears of my enemies” coasters.
Our TV deck is filled with Bob’s Burgers, Archer, Final Space, Mr Bean. We have a corner of the living room dedicated to board games (which I fucking hate by the way): Cards Against Humanity, Bears Vs Babies, You’ve Got Crabs. We spent most of our Summer holiday rolling around in mud. We are ridiculous. And hilarious.
So is our pooch.
Enough rambling. We have a dog. I feel like an adult. She’s luring me into a false sense of security and now I think I might want kids. No, that’s not strictly true… Now I don’t feel I would be as shit a parent as I previously thought I might be. Mind you, it’s only been two days.
Maybe ask me again next week yeah?
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