In Which We Get a Dog and I Compare Denver to Prison

If you’re reading this it’s probably because you know me, and you know I’m kind of a bitch.  I can be opinionated, head strong, even RUDE. I’m not particularly loving, although curiously enough I am quite affectionate. So affectionate I have been pestering my new husband to get a dog, since um, since before we wed actually. But we were living in a rental in Oakland so he kept saying, we’ll get one when the time is right. Well yesterday the time was right and I hope to God(figure of speech, yes, I am an atheist so stop reading right now if you wish to remain unoffended by my lack of religion and/or spirituality) that we didn’t choose wrong.

I have never been a dog person or even a pet person really, we had a cat growing up, Faulkner, a double for Morris the Cat,  he lived outside and I think we fed him eggs.

But as my darling hubby says, “That doesn’t count.”

The first stint I did here in Denver(it was kind of like county lock up for me- although obviously I have never been to jail if I am comparing Denver to jail,  but I watch a lot of shows, right now Orange is the New Black- get on that if you haven’t already) I got a hankering for a dog. I wanted a Teacup Pomeranian because, they are SO CUTE and I googled images of them with great frequency. (If you don’t believe me on how cute they are just click here.) Then  I heard from dog people with whom I am acquainted  that they were yappy as shit and can be vicious. One of my best friends whom we’ll call Panders (one day to be Dr. Panders) thought a small dog would be a good candidate to mitigate my loneliness and hatred of Denver. Like a therapy dog in prison. But… I never got one,  I was renting and people kept saying, you don’t want a dog- you can’t stay out all night drinking! You have to take care of it! Staying out all night drinking was a high priority for me at that time. Then I met my boyfriend (now husband) a couple of years ago(a beautiful story to someday be recounted) and we moved to California.

Husband is a great lover of dogs, large  and small.  He helped me overcome my general fear of dogs(resulting from a biting incident on the island of Jamaica but I digress) and as I mentioned, he said we would get a dog, “someday”. Now that we are back in Denver, I was adamant that he make good on his promise so went to the Dumb Friends League a week ago. I have never been in an animal shelter. It’s some sad shit people, those doggies! Oh gawd, this one husky only had three legs, poor thing. Anyway, we didn’t find our dog that day. We did find one that we liked the looks of,  but the whole “soiling in the house” part of its history helped us decide that we didn’t want the affenpinscher also, not recommended for children. We don’t have any children yet but we might have a baby so we left that little furball in a cage. I do hope it finds its forever home.

Anyway, we were cruising the internet for a puppy the other night and we saw a Silky Terrier at the Foothills Animal Shelter. My obsession with Yorkies began at my husband’s cousin’s house. She has the most adorable Yorkie and SO well behaved. So I was promised by my husband that I could get a Yorkie when we moved into a house and I could name that Yorkie Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The Silky looked just as cute as a Yorkie and they are supposed to be good family dogs. So while my husband was at work  my super homie(let’s call her, Lara) and I drove out to the shelter(side note, in order to survive Denver you need at least one super homie, this will lead to other homies as well but one will get you through some trying times) and it was all sad doggie faces all over again. Oh man your heart strings get TUGGED  the fuck out in those joints. The rest of the day went like this:

awwwwww!

awwwwww!

2-photo 2

I’ll let you pet me no problem.

3-photo 3

Baby, we’re bringing this doggy home.

4-photo 4

Buffy Lives! In our house.

I named the dog Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It’s a boy, but they don’t care about gender so I have been calling him a her and if you think that’s a problem. You have problems.

 

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2 thoughts on “In Which We Get a Dog and I Compare Denver to Prison

  1. Pingback: Motherhood Week 7: It’s Postpartum Depression, yo | Denver Bitch

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