Lately I’ve been making some very impressive headway in my ongoing quest to become a real grownup. Matching living room furniture: check. Wall decor that is unrelated to the Huskers or The Office: check. Husband: check. The purchase of hair care products that are not from Johnson and Johnson’s No More Tears line: check.
However, despite these great leaps forward in my pursuit of adulthood, I can’t help thinking something very important is missing. Sure, two people sharing an apartment is great as I need at least one person around in case I ever choke on Cap N’ Crunch or something. But it seems to me the two of us are in need of some company. I’m positive one pint-sized addition would really round out this new family thing quite nicely: preferably something cute, cuddly and already potty-trained. Also I’d appreciate it if it didn’t shed.
I need a dog as soon as possible, seriously, like right now, before I do something rash like steal one or something. Ordinarily, I don’t go around doing crazy things like snatching up canines but lately, it’s as though I’ve turned into a much, much nicer version of that dog catcher from the Pound Puppies. If I see some dog just wandering around looking adorable, I’m going to want to throw it (translation for the nicer version: gently place) it in the back of my van (translation: the very comfortable backseat of my Camry).
This weird surge of dog-love came out of nowhere. One day I was walking around perfectly fine as a non-pet owner, happily living my life as though nothing was wrong. Then one day: BAM! I suddenly had this undeniable need for a best friend of the puppy variety.
In all fairness, this is most definitely not my fault: it is quite clearly my father’s fault. My current dog-loving frenzy was obviously caused by almost two decades worth of dog deprivation. When I was six years old my father promised me a cute, cuddly dog all my own (even though I’m pretty sure would have had to share it with my stinky, little brother anyway). Eighteen years later, I remain cute, cuddly dog-less. If asked about this unfulfilled dog promise my father will surely say I’m full of bologna and I’m making the whole thing up. It’s possible this is true, because, well, it’s been almost 20 years for God’s sake. Either way, I’m about 90 percent sure this whole dog-promising thing took place and I’m 100 percent sure the promise wasn’t fulfilled.
I grew up dogless. Sure, I had a pet once, if you can call a fish a pet. As far as fish go, Lucky Chip wasn’t too bad. As a Beta he was pretty awesome looking but he was somewhat lacking in the cute, cuddly or at all entertaining departments.
So, as my childhood pet was clearly second-rate, I think it’s time I upgraded in the pet department: at least to a mammal.
Unfortunately, my new-found desire to become a full-fledged pet owner has come at a very inconvenient time. As our apartment doesn’t allow pets, I suppose I’ll have to endure a dog-less existence just a tiny bit longer.
In the meantime, I’ll resist my dog-snatching urges and settle for a fish or something. Lucky Chip, Jr. it is.