the one about the dog (april 2003)

For some reason, Tori and Brianna have gotten on an extreme “let’s get a dog” kick. I remain indifferent. We had two little dogs that I loved and adored while we were living in Houston, but OH MY GOD WERE THEY A LOT OF WORK! Here is a typical morning dialog between Kathleen and I during that period:

alarm sounds in the background: Welcome to Morning Edition. I’m Bob Edwards. …and I’m Linda Wertheimer

Leslie: Kat, it’s time to get up and walk the dogs.
Kathleen: Could you take them? I walked them yesterday morning.
Leslie: I walked them yesterday afternoon. What’s your point?
Kathleen: It’s raining.
Leslie: It’s the Gulf Coast. It’s always raining.
Kathleen: Just let me sleep for five more minutes.
Leslie: The dogs are crossing their little legs as it is, sweetie.
Kathleen: Well, then. That should make you feel guilty enough to want to walk them yourself.
Leslie: hrmmmmph… All right. But you better be cooking breakfast by the time I get back.

Good times, good times. But don’t let me fool you into thinking that I was always the one to walk them. On alternate days we would have the exact same conversation in reverse. I think that there were three times where we got up and executed the original plan… which consisted of walking them together so that we could talk and plan our day at the same time. And that was in the first week that we got them.

Another problem I forsee is that all three of us have a different definition of “dog.” I’ve envisioned a little lapdog that is easy to walk and doesn’t require a whole lot of room (because honestly, the house isn’t THAT big). Brianna wants a dog that will accompany her while she’s running (which could probably be any kind, really). Tori has her heart set on a dalmatian (what the fuck is she *on*, anyway?).

If Brianna doesn’t care what kind of dog we get, I am *almost* willing to go out and get a little terrier or something just to circumvent Tori bringing home Satan’s favorite puppy a spotty dog. For those who aren’t in the know, dalmatians are poster children for hyperactivity- the antidog for three busy twentysomethings who just like the idea of having a dog in the house. And, of course, I know that all terriers are not created equally. I am not the type that would adopt a constant yapper just for spite.

In the meantime, I’ve just been playing rent-a-dog. It suits my lifestyle perfectly. Scootter and Anne have a boxer. Susan and Diane have a BBD (basic blonde dog). I go over and pet the dogs, walk them on a leash, and after about 30 minutes, take them home again.

In fact, I am the type of dog-loving friend that I hope I’ll have if I end up on the losing side of this argument. Takers?

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