My Dog Sucks

I guess I've always been one of those impulsive pet owners. It's in my blood. Take, for instance, the time my sister brought home a guinea pig friend for the guinea pig she already had, which turned out was pregnant and then had three babies. Who has five guinea pigs? She also has a dog and a cat, and like one big dysfunctional family, all of the pets hang out together and snuggle. Her life is basically just one of those "unlikely animal friendships" pictures you see on the internet.

Like myself, she also takes after our mother, who once ran out for milk and then came home with a three-legged, Puerto Rican Terrier, named Suzette. Ironically, "Suzie" also got knocked up and gave birth to three little pups. True story.

We just can't help ourselves. It's a problem. What we lack in self-control, we make up for in animal hoarding. Often times we make completely irrational decisions to get something little and cute and fury, only to be left with feelings of shame and occasional regret.

While I will let it be known that I am actually the least crazy out of the three of us, (when it comes to taking in random animals anyway) I still have my momentary lapses in judgment that result in a new pet.

Last summer I had come down with a case of puppy fever. I convinced myself that I needed to have a dog and I needed one now.

"Get a Lab!" they said. "It will be fun!" they said.

"I will!" I said.

Badda bing, badda boom, who's kid got a puppy for his sixth birthday? So yeah, not only was I the world's coolest mom, I was also the proud new owner of an eight week old, Chocolate Lab, named; Brew.


Cutest. Thing. Ever. For about an entire week. Now he's a total buffoon. He grew into this giant, pain in the ass of a dog, overnight.

He sucks. I mean, he really sucks. He destroys everything. The house, the furniture, the clothes, the shoes, the kids toys... my life. All ruined. I am virtually living the real-life version of the movie Marley & Me, except I don't look like Jennifer Aniston and I don't live in Sunny Florida. I live in New England and it's cold. So being dragged down the street multiple times a day, by this big, dumb dog, so he can do poops, is just that much more fun. And trust me... It was a blast to begin with.

See, Brew doesn't pop a squat like a normal dog. No no no. He continues to walk while he craps... on the sidewalk. Then I get the pleasure of scraping an entire street's worth of doggy doo-doo off of the cement and into the bag of shame I walk home with. It's a treat, really. It's right up there with the uncontrollable diarrhea he gets every single time I take him to the Vet. Last time he had an appointment, both he and my two year-old son stepped in it and then proceeded to track it all over the entire waiting room.

He has also chewed up everything I own. I keep thinking that he's outgrowing this stage, but really, it's just him screwing with me. He'll spend days trying to convince me that he's a good boy. A pair of leather boots could be right in his face and he won't even take a sniff. My kid's toy dinosaurs can lay scattered on the floor without any of their heads being bitten off. He may even let a wire or cord dangle freely without using it to floss his teeth. But then, just as I start to trust him and believe I can leave something out in the open -- bam. The laptop top is ripped off. The remote control doesn't have any buttons anymore. My cell phone is ringing from inside his jaw.

Yup, he redeemed himself. Still sucks.

Did I mention that he is also obsessed with me? Oh yes. That's an understatement actually. I honestly believe he is trying to crawl inside of my body. He just can't get close enough to me. It might even be possible that he loves me more than any other living being has ever loved me before. He can't get enough. If he isn't sitting his fat ass on my lap, he's following me around the house, touching me at all times.

Tonight he followed me down to the basement while I switched loads of laundry. Yet somehow, this dog, who is usually more of a bull in a china shop, went into stealth mode and snuck down without me knowing it. Here I am, down in the dark, scary, (probably haunted) cellar, trying to toss the clothes in the dryer at nano speed when something touches the back of my leg. Brew's nose. How I managed to not poop my pants is beyond me.

Still though, I have to admit, I was pretty relieved to see his big, dumb face looking up at me and not that thing from Paranormal Activity. You would have thought I'd known it was just him standing right there. He's always right there. Yup, that's my Brew Brew. Always by my side, showing me nothing but love. I think all this big goof actually knows is to love. And you know what's probably the most annoying thing about him? How he makes me love him back.

You're a good boy, Brew Brew.