No joke...my dog must be mentally retarded. I wish I could sugar coat it because he is the most loving, caring, sweet, 70 lb lap dog you have ever met...but, if I am being honest, he is dumb as rocks. To add to it, I think he is trying to commit suicide. By eating pacifiers. I believe he is trying to exit the world in some sort of symbolic tragic final scene illustrating his plight since children came along and shattered his golden only-child existence. It's quite dramatic - and totally fitting to be my dog. Cuz there would be no way I could ever end up with Lassie. No no...I get the Lenny of dogs.
As I write this, my sister is rushing my loving, stupid, idiot of a dog to the emergency room, because we think he may have eaten another pacifier - and when I say another, I mean, if he did, this would be his 4th. He must be so bat shit crazy as to think he is a cat that has nine lives. He is a Catahoula after all. He does jump over things like a cat. He likes to lay on your lap and glare at you like a cat. He for sure must think he's a cat. But he's not - he's just a dog with parents that he thinks, love to dish out tens of thousands of dollars to surgically remove pacifiers from his stomach. Because we have. And continue to. Because we love his stupid ass. But it may honestly bankrupt us.
JackJack (aptly named after the multi-psychotic baby from the Incredibles that is super cute one moment then turns into the devil that destroys shit the next) has been diagnosed with Pica - an obsessive compulsive mental disorder, usually found in humans, that causes them to eat weird shit like paint chips or soap or cigarette ashes. My dog apparently has an obsession with rubbery plastic - or exactly the rubbery plastic found in Soothie brand pacifiers. It's so bad that when we had #2, we banned them from the house - just as a preventative measure. It seemed to work - until it didn't.
The first time he ate one of these apparent tasty morsels, it cost us $6,000 to remove. The second time, we caught it early, and were able to medically force him to puke it up for a bargain price of $450. The third time - he must have buried one in the dirt for over a year, because #1 hadn't used them in over 12 months, and yet somehow, he found it and ate it. That was the big one. That one cost a grand total of $11,372 to remove - complete with emergency care, emergency surgery, emergency after care, etc. etc.- all in different locations of course- while Hubs was traveling and I was at home alone with a baby. Ya. It was awesome. I swore that if he ever ate another pacifier, I would have to let him die, because I couldn't afford another $12k out of pocket to get it out of him. That I would just respect his wishes to die and let him go. Please note, my dog is not allowed to get pet insurance because he is a "known offender" - no company will insure him. But I love my dog, I love my dog. Friggen JackJack!!
This time, while we are in Tulsa for Thanksgiving, my sister is staying at our house and watching the dog. She knew the dog's history, but in a moment of distraction left a Soothie that her son uses, unattended. Minutes later it was gone. Nowhere to be found. Frantically she called me, hysterically crying. She fears the dog ate the Soothie.
I, calm as can be since this isn't my first rodeo, ask a series of questions designed to assess the situation. I have been through this so many times I could qualify as a fucking triage nurse. After getting the answers I needed to devise a treatment plan, I advise her to go immediately to the emergency vet for a medically induced vomiting. The time elapsed from the missing pacifier to that moment was only 30 minutes so a violent puking should expel the pacifier if it was in there. I tell her this, because, despite what I might have said the last time, I will continue to save my retarded dog, because I love the fool. He was, hell, he is, my first child. He has sure as hell cost me more than any of my human kids, so I will be damned if I am going to let him kill himself. I would miss him too damn much. I love my dog, I love my dog. Fucking JackJack!!
Just as I was finishing this, I got a call from my sister - the pacifier was indeed found in his stomach, and luckily was caught soon enough to puke up - the cost for this round is still unknown. But this scene is all too familiar to me. I now have 4 of these specimans in my hope chest, along with my human children's artwork and pictures.
At the end of the day, our dogs are our children too. Often, they come first, or third, or whatever their birth order, you love them, and would do anything to keep them alive, just as you would any of your children. And just like your children, you love the dumb ones just as much, maybe in some sick way, a little more, because, well, they need it. And when all is said and done, you love your dog, you love your dog...Forever JackJack.
Once upon a time there was a cute little couple that lived in Nashville. Every winter they would travel to both California and Oklahoma to visit their families for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays. They would spend days packing for the different climates, end up with huge bags full of unnecessary clothing items, shoes, etc. They would bitch about being delayed in airports and dealing with the craze of holiday travelers they encountered. They would peacefully sit at a bar and watch with laughter all the stupid hacks that would travel with children – swearing that would NEVER be them…ever. And then they would arrive at their destination with a simple carry on and single suitcase. They lived happ-RECORD SCREETCH – ya, that shit is OVER.
These days those lovely travel times are a distant memory. I chuckle when I think about how annoyed I was with holiday travel, how much of a burden it seemed. If only my today self could go back and throw a dirty diaper at my previous self and shout “Enjoy this fucking time, Bitch – it’s gonna be hell in a few years”. In reality – today self is the bitch, most likely because she hasn’t slept in 5 years and has to travel with kids.
As I write this, I am sitting in a "seat" that must have been engineered with three-year old child measurement specs, because there is more legroom in the trunk of a Miata than there is in this fucking thing. I am in what would be a third row, if there was a row at all. But there is no row, no no, the rest of the minivan is chock full with a ton shit that is required to fucking travel with two kids. My kids have it good, they get the cozy second row. Hubs and his brother have it best, they can leisurely drive up front with cushy ass seats, radio and all the conveniences of home. I, on the other hand, tighten my motion sickness bands to keep myself from puking from the TERRIBLE body roll that happens in the back of a car with too long of a wheelbase.
Now, if you don’t have kids, just stop reading because there is no fucking way you could ever comprehend what goes into traveling with rugrats. It’s unbelievable. In fact, my brother-in-law had the audacity to say “Wow, you have more stuff in that room than I have in the whole house”. I almost fucking drop-kicked him. You’re right asshole, get off your Captain Obvious ass and help us move this shit!
In case you haven’t had to do this yet, here are a couple thoughts on your packing list. Please note this is not exhaustive, but just some things to remember.
Stock it with beer on one tap, and vodka tonic on the other. That way whichever parent isn’t driving and has to take care of the kids in the back can get good and buzzed. Because my last piece of advice is this – when traveling with kids, pack your adult beverage of choice and some Xanax - it is literally the only way you will survive. Don't feel guilty, just realize that a Happy Mom means a Happy Family. It's ok...you are awesome for even attempting to travel with kids. If you succeed, you are a fucking Rock Star. And I never met a single Rock Star that didn't have booze and happy pills. Case closed.
Happy Holidays and best wishes to all of you that, like me, are REQUIRED to travel. I salute you - remember you are awesome - and I'll see you at the hotel bar at 10:00 pm begging the attendant to just give you a cup of ice because you brought your own beverage. Happy Trails.
Today we will be talking about Parental Pride. This is slightly related to a future post that I will be doing about Parental Shaming - as we seem to shame everyone for everything, including their parental pride, as we will talk about now.
Look, I am all about being proud of your kid. I am convinced that pride, along with guilt and worry come as a package deal with the amniotic fluids that house your kid in the womb. Inherently, everyone should be proud of their kid. But here's the thing...there is a silent, unspoken limit to how much you should publicly subject others to your abundance of parental delight. Take this person for instance. Honestly, all you would need to do is put ONE sticker on your car, and I would see that your kid was an honor roll kid. After the first sticker, the other six are just overkill - teetering on the side of annoying. On one hand, I am starting to suspect you simply stole a stack of stickers and are just putting them on there so I THINK your kid is smart, when he is really like 60 crayons short of the 72 box of Crayolas. On the other hand, I must ask how old your kid is, because if you are planning to continue this ritual through high-school, you may need a bigger car.
tThen, there are always the parents that are convinced their 4 year olds are going to be Olympic athletes, Super Star sponsored soccer players or the next Tiger Woods. Now, I know that all athletes started somewhere, but please people - your kid is 4 - let them be a kid. Having them hanging at the gymnastics studio 7 times a week is just mean. Let them at least turn 6 or 7 before you force them into a lifetime of cut-throat competition and life altering disappointment. Despite what you may believe, at the end of the day, they are just kids under there - 7 lessons a week are not going to change the fact that they still eat their own snot - sorry.
While we are on the subject, being the rebel mom does not hold you harmless here. If you reference your kid having anything at all to do with the honor roll student - you too have a problem. Being just as publicly proud of your future inmate child as the mom is above about her nerd, is just as annoying. Same deal - keep it to yourself. Besides, things like this just make you look like an asshole.
Finally Parents, let's address how we react to incidents at school. As the mom that has the kid that acts like the enforcer - determined to right the world's wrongs with physical force, I am usually the one being shamed, and rarely - if ever - the one soapboxing my daughter's brilliance. Yes, my daughter smacked your kid for cutting in line. Yes, my daughter squeezed your daughter's face for making fun of her friends. And yes, my daughter kicked your punk ass son because he pushed her into the slide. Yes, yes and yes. I get it - my kid doesn't take your kid's shit - and she gets in trouble for it. Got it. Thanks. But you don't see me bragging about the fact that my kid is essentially the Super Hero here. Instead, I silently accept the administrator talking-tos and the terrible looks that other parents give me since my kid got the Incident Report and sent to the office. Don't act all high and mighty - your fucked up villain kid didn't get in trouble - mine took one for the team. At the end of the day, it's fucking PreSchool. Your kid's crusty underpants are no different from my kid's. They are all learning together - and we as parents need to just be there to support all of them - regardless of who they are. Being a kid is tough - and while its important to build our own kid up, it's almost more important to build ALL KIDS UP. Let's collectively make sure that we don't tolerate bullying, don't support cliques and firmly encourage behavior of love and respect towards all. That's the shit we should be preaching and broadcasting - not gross shit like this.
Foul mouthed, outspoken and pretty much an eternal realist.