Dear People Who Think I’m Crazy,
Wait, let me narrow that down a bit.
Dear People Who Think I’m Crazy for Getting Another Dog,
I know. I KNOW. Beatz nearly destroyed me. I loved her like a member of the family (still do!), because that’s what she was. Beatz terrified me with her ghost-barking (that’s barking at ghosts, not invisible barking), drove me crazy with her mouth licking sounds, and put me through the ringer with her anxiety, but mostly she melted my icy, icy heart with her unwavering, undeniable, unconditional love.
But ultimately, after the special holistic vet, the Thundershirt, the NPR, the “leaving the house” parties, the Rescue Remedy, a pricy visit with the foremost behavorist in the world, the Prozac and the Xanax (for her, not me), the treat puzzles, the bird-watching bench, the doggy daycare, and yes, even the dog psychic, we realized the separation anxiety was bigger than us. As happy as Beatz made us, our lifestyle was making her miserable. The deep crater in front of the door from her non-stop salivating as she waited for us to come home was a daily visual reminder. A literal depression from her depression.
All she wanted to do was sit at an old lady’s feet all day. That’s why, after five years, we let her go. Beatz went to live with one of her biggest fans, her wonderful dog groomer, Kenny, along with his grandma (an old lady who has feet!), his girlfriend and her son. Beatz got to get her old lady fix all day, every day, and we got the peace of mind of knowing she was happy and well-loved by a sweet family. It was as close to a win-win as we could get.
But while Beatz got what she always wanted (non-stop old lady feet, keep up, guys), I did not. I’m a dog person; always have been, always will be. I’m the type that watches those YouTube dogs-greet-soldiers-coming-home video compilations sobbing. I ogle other people’s dogs like Charlie Bucket eying a Wonka bar. I long for a best friend who won’t make any annoying comments during So You Think You Can Dance (no offense, Matty).
I enjoy talking in a high-pitched voice to someone who appreciates it. I like asking inane, hypothetic questions like, “Who’s a good girl?” I give great belly rubs.
Of course, we were/are scared to get another dog. What if our new dog develops separation anxiety? What if Kenny’s grandmother doesn’t have enough room at her feet for another dog? What if Beatz finds out and hates us? Thankfully, rather unique circumstances led to Beatz’s separation anxiety. In fact, we had about two blissful years with her before any issues arose. Additionally, we have a much more dog-friendly lifestyle now, with me largely working from home and Matty working at an office that’s cool with an occasional four-legged production assistant.
Back when we were considering whether or not to have a third child, the conventional wisdom was that you should only have a third child if you feel like your family is incomplete. Well, we have a long, short hole in our family. What? That came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that we’re ready for a new dog.
So yeah, I’m crazy.
Like a fox. For dogs. In a good way. Please wish us good luck, good karma, and peace of mind with our new dog, Rosie. We pick her up tomorrow.