A lot sucks about this pandemic. A LOT.
But I never would have thought that with everything else there is to worry about, I’d have to be on high alert for a “Planet of the Apes” type situation with the dogs. That’s right: They think they’re in charge. And they’re completely bent on oppressing the human race, specifically ME by making me be their stinkin’ doorman.
They’ve become absolute dogtators, demanding to be let in and out whenever they damn well please. It’s hard to believe there was a time they spent hours alone outside (or in No. 3’s case, in a crate) and now they can’t go 30 minutes staying inside? So spoiled.
They think — since we’re home pretty much 24-7 — we exist solely to serve them and to prove their point, on a daily basis, they demand to be let in and out the ENTIRE DAMN DAY. One stands at the door and paws at it until it magically opens (it’s not magic, it’s usually ME). No sooner does my butt hit the comfortable, warm groove I’ve worn into the couch then there’s a second clawing at the door. Another dog wants out. Now. So, I mutter some select words under my breath and get up again. Then I sit down only to repeat the process one last time for the remaining dog left in the house.
And what happens when I open the door? Is there a mad dash to the corner of the yard?
Nooooooo. They mosey around, sniffing. Usually, all they want is a drink of outside water. That’s apparently better than the lukewarm swill served in their inside-the-house water bowl.
I might get all of 5 minutes before the pattern repeats in the other direction, with one after the other wanting to be let back inside. Let me tell you, it is a banner day when they all come in at once.
I know what you’re thinking — that we definitely need a dog door. Well, when two out of three dogs are pushing 90 pounds, I’d prefer not to see the kind of unwanted visitors that might also pop through that entrance — either dragged in dead by the dogs or because they took a wrong turn heading for the nearby wash. We’ve already found a snake and way too many dinosaur-sized lizards.
If this wasn’t annoying enough, now the furry turds expect to go out whenever they want all night long. I already have to deal with military weapons-grade snoring right next to me and now these jerks want me to get out of bed at least three times a night? Completely unacceptable. I’ve told them so. They don’t care.
So basically the only part of my face that people outside my house even see any more is my eyes and now they are almost totally obscured by the puffy bags swallowing my face.
Exactly. Just like that Muppet right there, who’s either Statler or Waldorf. I forget which. Oh yeah, that’s the other thing, the mask hides the sweet ‘stache I’ve been working on this whole pandemic.
All I know is that the dogs are going to be so sorry when I spend all their dog food money on plastic surgery* to fix the signs of my sleep deprivation. But then, I guess if we stop feeding them that probably would eliminate** the need to go outside anymore. Hmmmm…
*It’s known as lower lid blepharoplasty. I looked it up.
**Ha! Get it?!?! It’s a poop pun. Oh, cut me some slack. It’s early and I barely sleep.
TheRealKristenCook.com 