There are people who love their animals, and people who are crazy about their animals, and then people who just seem to tolerate cohabitating with their animals. I happen to fall into the third category. I never really meant for it to be this way, but it just kind of evolved into this kind of relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an animal hater, and I’m not inhumane to my doggies, but I’m just not that crazy about them anymore, and I’m pretty sure the feelings are mutual.
The funny thing is I’m the one who picked out my dogs, convinced the family we needed dogs, and even begged my husband at the time we got our 2nd dog that we couldn’t live without her. So looking back, it seems I’ve either had an animal attitude shift, or after 9-11 years of vacuuming up yellow and black lab fur from my floors, I’m just kind of over it.
I think the shift started to take place around their 3rd and 5th years (they’re 2 years apart.) This is around the time that the family stopped paying attention to Jet and Poombah. (Yes, I know I spelled Poombah wrong, as the kids informed me after I had her bone-shaped ID tag engraved that there is no “h” at the end of her name.) By then it was too late though, because she’d already been registered with the humane society and had a file with her name on it at Dr. Nowicki’s office where she tried to attack a Calico cat that was sitting on the counter at our last visit.
Nevertheless, when the family dropped out of pet care, I became the go-to-girl, and had to feed, water, and pick up their doo on a regular basis. Without me, Jet and Poombah would have nothing. Once, I was gone Continue reading
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