Fred and Olive, This One’s For You (A Dog Tale)

Some days I like my dogs better than my kids. Oh come on now — don’t get your panties in a bunch. I said “LIKE,” not “LOVE.” I’m not *that* crazy. But I’m definitely one of those dog owners who makes the cast from Best in Show look normal. It’s funny because, on a girls weekend a couple of years ago, we got talking about our dogs, and some of us declared our undying love for the pooches, while other moms said that, once they had kids, the dogs just became more of a nuisance. I can totally get that line of thinking, as taking care of kids can be draining, but I’ve always known I would remain on the other side of that coin.

When I was six months pregnant with my first child, we went to a pug adoption fair. To say that friends and family thought I was crazy for wanting to get a dog just before birthing a baby is an understatement. But somehow I knew in my growing belly that I would make it work. The foster mom assigned to our case expressed her concern, but I told her that I know myself, and I would always take care of this pooch. And take care of her, we have. She’s a spoiled little shit, to be perfectly honest. In fact, when my son was born, I’d already become so attached to her, I wanted to give up my second night in the hospital to go home and be with her. And you know that if I’m giving up the heavenly smoothies and help from the nurses with the wee one (who I had no idea how to take care of yet), I was really in love with that hound.

In fact, we waited a couple of years and even adopted another pug, so now the tally is two kids and two pugs. Even on my worst day, there’s no shortage of love and kisses in this household. It may be hard to coax them from my two wee boys, but my pooches? Oh, hell no. Those babies coat me in pug saliva like my life depended on it. I once heard someone say that dogs who have been adopted always seem to know that it’s you who saved them. Now my dogs may be as dumb as doorknobs (I’m fairly sure it’s a photo finish), but they do somehow know this. It’s like they’ve imprinted on me, and they are my two little ducklings (read: lemmings) who follow me around the house all day — two shadows and two peas in a pod. They sleep with me (go ahead and judge, but no one cuddles better than a stinky, snorting pug), work with me (under my feet at the desk), and act like it’s they’ve just won the fucking lottery if I bring them in the car with me. The car! The car! Snort. Snort. The car! The car!

With my kids, I’m like a short-order cook. “Turkey dog, please.” “Okay, here’s your turkey dog.” “I said hot dog, Mommy!” “Oh sorry, here’s your hot dog.” Other guy chimes in, “I want a hot dog, too!” “But I gave you your favorite — mac ‘n’ cheese.” “Hot dog! Hot dog! Hot dog!” “Okay, okay, here’s your hot dog.” “I wanted pasta!” “Yesterday you told me you didn’t like pasta.” “Mommy, that was yesterday.” By the time dinner is done, I’m sweating, something has burned, and I need a fucking glass (read: bottle) of wine. It makes me envy the zookeepers who get to throw open the cages and throw in a bucket of chum. Feeding tiiiiiiime! On the other hand, the pug crew has been eating the same shit for dinner their entire lives, and they act like I’ve served them up a filet with a side of scalloped potatoes. Unlike Rodney Dangerfield, I’m finally getting the respect I deserve. Recognize!

I love my kids unconditionally, but some days I do like my dogs better than my kids. Like. Fred and Olive, this one’s for you.

pugs driving

Look at me, I’m driving this bitch!

Indulge me in this one — if you’re thinking of getting a dog, try adoption! This is a great site — PetFinder.com.

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Comments

  1. Val says:

    As a fellow pug owner… I get it! xo

  2. Kimberly Morris says:

    As a another fellow pug owner, I totally agree (on the days the google-eyed crack head doesn’t shit or piss in the house). My pug is entirely stupid, rescued from some crackhead house who was breeding his parents for crack money…but he is loyal, patient with the boy and follows me around like I was made of bacon. He also listens better than the 5 year old, and sits when I snap… good pug. (again, when he isn’t using my house as his own personal honey bucket.).

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