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!”



Danielle Wilson

I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, the same year Dick Nixon was elected. Along with my twin sister and three younger sisters, I attended Catholic schools for thirteen years. (Holy Mother, pray for me.) I spent two years as a cadet at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado until I wised up and transferred to a more normal school, Indiana University, where I received a B.A. in history and a teaching license just for funsies. In 2001, I officially entered the ranks of stay-at-home moms to care for my two-year old son and newborn twins. I have mentally blocked all of 2002 and most of 2003. In 2004, I received a Master’s degree in U.S. History from I.U.P.U.I. and a fourth child from my should-have-had-that-vasectomy-sooner husband. From 2005 until mid-2010, I played Super Mom in the yet-to-be released indie film "Provide Daycare for Your Sister-in-Law's Children Because You Don't Have Enough to Do Already." I returned to teaching this fall at an undisclosed Indianapolis school where thankfully very few parents know who I am. I am considering developing a bad habit.

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