Princess wants a dog. So much so, that she writes stories at school about how much she wants a dog, and how she will take care of it, and how she will save her allowance to buy food, and she will wash it and feed it and bathe it and love it to pieces....blah...blah....blah.
Sky King, however, is not on board. He is vehemently anti-dog.
:::travelling back about 10 years:::
Me: I REALLY want a dog.
SK: Because I don't want to take care of it, or pay for vet bills, or pick up the shit, or worry about what to do with it when we want to go away.
Me:pleasepleasepleaseplease, I really want one and it will be so great and it will be cute and snuggly and it will lick our faces and go with us camping and obey and sit and beg and not bark and be super awesomely fabulous......
SK: Fine. You want a dog? Get a dog. I won't feed it, water it, pet it, drive it to the vet, or pay the bills. But if you want to get one, fine. Get one. But don't come running to me when it is too much work.
Well, then I don't want one. :::scowl....pout:::
Can you tell we used to have a dog, that had a skin condition so bad we had to cook for him? And he bit two people, and finally had to put him down? And then had a cat that had vet bills that made us late on rent? Twice? No?
And, every time we talked to someone with a dog that had problems or
expenses or gripes, Sky King is all, "That's reason number 429 why
we DON'T have a dog".
Since Princess began wanting a dog, Sky King has been extra super duper steadfast with his, "NO." This demand for a dog has been going on since she could say, "I wanna doggy". Still, Sky King has managed to not give a shit. It's like he was born without a heart.
Then, two things happened:
1. A friend asked us to watch their dog for 3 weeks, and Sky King thought he had said his daughter's name, so he said yes which confused me because he has always been so anti-dog, then I clarified to him that our friend had asked about their dog, not their daughter, and then when he realized it was 3 weeks of a dog he resigned himself to it because she is such a sweet dog, and he decided it would be good training for Princess. He even prepped her by saying, "This will show you how hard it is to have a dog", which she heard as, "If you do a good enough job, I will get you a puppy. Or two. And a pony."
2. My brother came to stay with us for a little over a month and brought his dog with him.
Princess has been in doggy heaven ever since.
Both dogs have been getting dressed up, fed human snacks, rubbed/snuggled/scratched within an inch of their doggy lives, and have been taken in and out over to the poop-filled gravel area 37 times a day. This guy dressed like a doggy Lady GaGa is Chico, a Baby-Killing-Pit-Bull mixed with Tree-Hugging-Pacifist.
(Seriously. Chico gets his doggy panties in a twist whenever he encounters weapons. Whenever Monkey Boy shoots things in the yard with his Airsoft gun, Chico goes ape-shit. He runs around agitated, whining and pissing and moaning, trying to bite the end of the weapon. He's completely anti-violence. The other day, Princess made a marshmallow shooter out of PVC, and Chico keeps trying to eat it, because ammo (pom poms) comes out of it, and it upsets him.
He also keeps trying to "save" the kids when they swim, by jumping precisely on top of them, and scratching them til they want to die. He's Ironic Pit Bill.)
2 weeks into Doggy Day Care, Princess comes down stairs for breakfast. I remind her, don't forget to feed the dogs. She gives me her signature eye roll and a huge sigh, and says, "I don't want a dog any more. They are too much work."
Sky King jumped for joy. Inside his head though, because he's too badass to jump for joy.
We have two more weeks of each dog. The carpets need cleaning, there is hair EVERYWHERE, and we have changed some plans to accommodate our obligations. Chico follows Princess with the intensity of John Hinckley Jr. while Jazzy can't keep her paws off Monkey Boy. But Pooper Scooper Day is fast-approaching. Especially with the summer heat blazing. I'm thinking it will be the final nail in the doggy-wanting coffin, for good measure.
Send them luck. And latex gloves.