Ode to a Puppy
As I write, I have survived exactly ten days with our new puppy. My sanity has been touch and go throughout, particularly opening weekend of deer hunting season when Doo abandoned me for tree stands and fart jokes, but otherwise, I’ve surprised even myself with my high levels of patience and tolerance for training a nine-week-old Labrador. (I’ve even caught myself petting her, and saying things like “Good job, Libby!” If you know anything about me, these small signs of affection are truly amazing.) Still, these Dog Days of December have inspired me to explore my usually-suppressed poetic side. I’ve been spraying a ton of enzyme odor and stain remover recently, and, let’s face it, some feelings are better expressed in stanzas. Whatever the reason for my rhyming motivation, enjoy.
Ode to a Puppy
Puppy, puppy, everywhere,
Where she pees, she does not care.
Carpet, rug, new bedspread,
Is it any wonder I see red?
Go away, dog, I wish each day
So life can return to the quiet old way.
No midnight feedings, no need for sitters,
No stepping in poo on the way to the sh*#-er.
This was the whole point of Doo getting “fixed,”
So the pains of having infants would forever be nixed.
But we’re back to square one with this new little Lab,
Who is, quite literally, driving me mad.
She yelps, she barks, she gnaws on my shoes,
I swear to sweet Jesus, I need more booze!
Our children adore her, of course they do.
They’ve wanted a dog since 2002.
The cat, not so much; that’s no real surprise.
The pup’s head on a platter would be her perfect prize.
I keep reminding myself, “I’m a good mom, the best!”
For trading a clean house for a canine-themed nest.
For tolerating the jumping, the yipping, the hairs,
For sacrificing the flooring, the bedding, the chairs.
For putting my family above my own want,
For faking a smile and not opting to punt
When the freakin’ puppy wakes me at three,
To urinate and defecate and slobber on me.
[Seriously, how long will it take for her to sleep through the night and learn to go potty outside? And why did Doo ever think this would be a good time for a dog? I think, like most mothers do with pregnancy, he blocked all the challenging aspects of puppy ownership and only remembered the good times. Why else would he do it again? I certainly won’t!]
Back to my rhyme, there’s more to be said,
Like how much I’m dreading this long year ahead.
At least I’ll have plenty of tales to tout,
For the next installment of my book, the very-reasonably-priced “Peace Out!”