You’re Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl)

First of all, Metalia asked yesterday if the wormed nephew was the same nephew who was tortured at Christmas, and the answer is yes. Yes, I was party to his quasi-ruined Christmas for him, and at one point, after his fifth nosebleed of the day, casually mentioned a friend from middle school who had to have her nose cauterized from too many nosebleeds, which led to a bit of mild panic and an explanation of what a soldering gun does. I was like Auntie Death for the duration of the holidays, and only in retrospect have I fully realized my idiocy. I did, however, play a mean game of FlashFlashRevolution with both of my nephews, and racked up quite a few credits to give the little darlings so they can purchase new songs. I’m not all bad.

Also, a housekeeping issue: I’ve been having a bit of a problem while running with, ah, the riding up of the gym shorts. I am a pear, and there is little I can do about that, and while I’m not wearing culottes, I’m not whipping out the hotpants, either. I’m wearing normal shorts that hit mid-thigh, and yet after about five minutes, I’m plucking the inner hem out of my…inners. Pants are not an option, as it’s a bojillion degrees out there. So I’m asking: does anyone have any suggestions? Am I bound to run with large swaths of fabric jammed into my crotch?

Anyway.

Lawyerish asked how we decided to get a dog, and why we opted for a pug. Truthfully, we always wanted a dog. I’ve always had cats, and would have considered myself more of a cat person, but in the interest of experiencing all pets except for goats, a dog seemed like a good idea. And honestly, thank God we got a dog, because if not, I could absolutely see myself spending all of my time at home with my 11 cats later in life, tottering around in my house slippers and wondering where Muffy got to, maybe behind the refrigerator? Now at least I will be able to mix it up with a couple of dogs who will get me out of the house.

It was always a given that we’d get a dog as soon as we bought a house, and as soon as we moved here, we started plotting. Unfortunately, I was going through a bit of anxiety at the time and channeled EVERY INCH of my angst into finding that dog, and made the process a little less fun than it could have been. In other words, I made it miserable by panicking that we would NEVER FIND A DOG AS LONG AS WE LIVED, and then realizing that if we did NOT find that dog IMMEDIATELY, I would never have a baby, ever. I can’t see the connection either, but there you have it. Dog, baby. Not sure. I got over it fast, though, so whatever.

The shelter vs. breeder question is one that comes up a lot, and one that I know both sides of, and researched the pants off of. Suffice it to say we were open to both avenues, and a breeder turned out to be the best decision for us, and one that I really suck at justifying, but I am comfortable with it.

Boston terriers and pugs topped the list, because they were both on the lazy side, and required little exercise, relatively speaking, compared to something like a Brittany Spaniel or Golden Retriever. Plus, honestly, they’re small enough that they get a truckload of exercise just running around the house, though this is infinitely more applicable to pugs than Bostons, who benefit from a lot more running around outside. They also had the added bonus of being reasonably compact, small dogs, yet relatively indestructible. I could not handle living with a highly breakable dog, given that I am immeasurably clumsy, and the dog would doubtless spend the first few months of his life in some sort of traction after I fell on her and broke her legs. Plus, truth be told, I’ve always loved smooshy-faced dogs who snort and snuffle.

And, after a long search that involved finding a Boston and naming her a dirty name , then not being able to bring home said dog, who narrowly escaped being a pundenda, we ended up focusing on pugs and coming home with Sunny.

Pugs are the weirdest little dogs in the world. They snort, snuffle, wheeze and snore like the dickens. I’ve never been near her and not realized she was there – she is a loud breather, and snuffles, creaks and snarfs everything within range, and once in a while, she lets out a large, cleansing breath out through her nose, sending pugsnot all over the room, and all over you, if you happen to be close enough. Her wrinkles always have shit in them, and we’re constantly cleaning her face of whatever mischief she’s gotten into (and it’s a lot). She spreads water all over the floor when she drinks, and a few ounces are always left hanging about in her wrinkles, which trickle out all over the place as she runs away from her dish. And the shedding! Oh my sweet lord, the shedding. She makes our cat seem like a sphynx.

We knew they were social dogs, and needed a lot of attention, but I had no idea just how much she would need to be near us. She follows me everywhere, the little clickclick of her nails just barely rising above the snorfling and occasional horking gag if she drinks too much, too fast. Until recently, she was SunnoDestructo, chewing and eating everything in her path and running up and down the stairs in a mad dash until she collapsed. In the last few weeks, though, she’s become quite the lovemuffin, and her favorite thing in the world is to snuggle up with you on the couch, her little head nestled as close to your face as possible, so that she can snarf and snore loud enough that you can’t hear the television.

In short, she’s awesome.

And this was long, and likely boring as hell, I’m sorry. I get a little overly earnest about dogs. Dogs are magic!

*White Stripes

23 comments January 3rd, 2007