Pets, Pets, Pets

Why must some of us be so ridiculously attached to animals? There are a thousand ways that life would be simpler if we didn't have to spend our lives dragging around pet baggage. I don't mean those silly little purses for pocket-sized dogs, or collapsible water bowls that hang from the waistband of a jogger and his pit bull. I'm talking about the blasted inconveniences that complicate and aggravate and have the potential to derail any otherwise pleasant day. It's a wonderful thing to climb out of bed in the morning and be greeted by a grinning, tail-wagging canine who appears convinced the moon was hung by you alone. But after those loving pats and the first-morning scratch behind the ears, it is all quickly forgotten when you walk around the corner and find the contents of a trash can strewn about the floor, complete with gum stuck on the rug and a big smear that looks like vomit that has been licked up.

The adoring eyes of that dog that worships the ground you walk on bring such warm fuzzies to your heart so that you can't pass by without giving a quick rub and a sweet greeting, until you enter the bathroom and discover that once again that inconsiderate, theiving interloper has managed to relieve you of another roll of toilet paper. Twelve thousand bits of evidence make it perfectly clear what has happened, and you finally resolve that for the remainder of this vandal's life the toilet paper will have to sit inconveniently on a shelf above snout reach. That cute little dispenser built into the wall next to the toilet might possibly be useful for hanging a sock to dry. But, no, the sock would become a chew toy the second it was discovered.

So much pleasure is derived from watching the beloved pets romp in the backyard, communing with nature, bonding with the smells that tell a story you can't read. Standing at the window, your heart bubbles with thankfulness for the blessing of a dozen years of sharing life with such beautiful creatures. You open the door to welcome them in where you are waiting with every intention of showering them with the affection they deserve. Their whole bodies seem to wag in their delight of simply being alive, and you begin giving hugs and throwing out words of endearment until you notice that the entire kitchen is covered in brown doggy paw prints. How did that happen? It was a perfectly sunny day outside! You run for a towel and manage to grab one old girl and wipe her feet clean, but the other is so filled with excitement that she escapes into the next room while you are occupied, so that by the time you reach her there are muddy prints all the way through the house. Was it one hour ago that you mopped the floor, or maybe two?

Dogs, cats and rabbits, oh my! Guinea pigs, hamsters and gerbils, big sigh! Lizards, birds and fish, bye bye! Chickens and mice, like a poke in the eye! We're phasing out. Down to three dogs. Down to a mere few hundred dollars a month to maintain them in the lifestyle to which they are accustomed. Down to a manageable ankle depth of hair clouds to vacuum up a few times a week. Down to a half dozen or so bones to kick our bare feet into. Down to a single water bowl that needs filling but three times a day. Down to only twelve doggy feet and a mere 54 nails to clip every few weeks. Down to an unknown, rapidly decreasing number of belly rubs, cuddles on the floor, silky neck strokes, and nights of peaceful snoring coming from the corner of the bedroom.

Sometimes I envy those who don't need pets in their lives.