Dogsitting because I'm weak

When we first got Elliot, I was a wreck. As a SAHM, I mother the hell out of my kids--and apparently my dog. I can remember sleeping on the floor with him for the first few weeks because I didn't want him to wake up and cry. I talked to him and worried constantly and was a complete emotional wreck. It was nuts. Now I'm an expert when it comes to Elliot. He and I have a routine, and I'm the one he comes to when he needs to go out because he knows I will believe him and delegate. He loves Tom the most, but he respects me.

During Darcy's graduation party, my Steelers buddy and his wife casually asked, in a joking sort of way, whether or not I would be interested in watching their Puggle while they went on vacation in June. My first response was a loud, bold, capital lettered, resounding, "NO." But then, because I'm freaking nuts nice, and because they talked about it only being two days while their normal guy was out of town, I casually, in a joking sort of way, said, "sure." Somewhere between that party and their actual departure date, it became a real thing.

Of course, I knew the dog, having spent my Sundays at their house watching Steelers games, but it had been a while since football season. Scott brought her over for a play date with Elliot, who mostly spent his time allowing the puggle to sniff his nether regions and the rest of the time watching the crazy dog run circles through my house. They had no trouble with each other, and suddenly it was all set. I was watching their two-year-old puggle Jazzy for a week.

They brought the dog on Wednesday morning. I had closed off my bedroom area so she wouldn't have as much room to circle, but she seemed right at home upon entering. Scott went through the instructions; feed twice a day, allergy medication once a day, treats after pottying, etc. They left the vet number, loved all over the dog, and left. Oh, and they left two turtles with me as well. That was a last-minute addition with the assurance they would "be no trouble-don't worry about them-just feed them and leave them." Off they went leaving behind their precious baby.

Scott: "I'd really rather leave the kids here and take my Puggle on vacation."

Krista: "Oh, stop!"

He was serious. This man loves this dog as much as Tom loves Elliot. If only they treated their wives with this much love and happiness...

As they drove away, Jazzy stood at the door, crying and jumping up on her hind legs pawing at the glass door.

Jazzy: "Wait! Wait! You forgot me! Please don't leave. DADDY!"

I speak dog, so believe me when I tell you I heard all of that. It was pitiful and sucked me right into my mommy mode. I sat down with her and loved her. I told her where they were going, how we would love and care for her, and I tried to reassure her that this week would blow by so fast and that her family would return soon. She sat, on her rump like a human, with her legs in front of her, and turned her head side to side as she took in what I was saying. Then she proceeded to run through my house like a maniac, and when she wasn't doing that, she was doing this:

It made me sad, and it made me a wreck. I began having anxiety that this dog would never relax and would keel over and die from the stress of being here. I worried when I walked her, and she didn't pee. I worried when I walked her that she would pull right out of the leash and get hit by a car. I worried when she didn't eat her dinner that she would starve to death. After walking her around the block, I worried she was overheated and might have a heart attack. When we opened the front door, I worried she'd race out and disappear forever. I worried that she couldn't relax and that she didn't seem to ever sleep. By the end of the day, I was a raving, stark mad, lunatic of anxiety.

Darcy: "Why did you say you would watch the dog if it was going to stress you out this much?"

A good question, and one I will remember from here on out. Last summer, I took care of my neighbor's dog, but it was only a go over and feed it kind of thing. I only brought her to my house during the day because I felt guilty about her being alone in her house all day. 

I became a SAHM so that my kids didn't have to go to daycare, and that has just naturally morphed into feeling the same way about animals. I didn't crate my kids during the day, so why would I crate my dog? I kept bringing the neighbor's dog to my house, and when I felt she was getting stressed and causing my anxiety level to rise, I took her back home. However, this dog was here for the long haul no matter how hard she whimpered for her home.

She didn't sleep at all during the day. She pooped in my closet. She kept going from room to room and from couch to couch. She couldn't seem to relax, and if by some miracle she would start to do so, Elliot would bark, or my refrigerator would make a noise, or I'd shift position, and she would spring up and take off running. 

Then Tom came home and began questioning me on all sorts of things regarding the dog. He hated that I had closed off the bedrooms. He worried the dog would put a hole in our new couches because she climbed over them like a cat, so I covered the couches with blankets and told her sternly to get down off the backs and the arms. He worried she would puncture our water bed if she got on it, so I wouldn't let her on our bed. She normally sleeps with her owners, but that thought stressed me out because I move a lot, get up a lot, and am constantly hot, so the idea of a body next to mine brought anxiety, not to mention Tom's concern over the water bed. 

I decided to crate the dog for the night, telling myself repeatedly that all of the experts say it is the safest and most secure thing to do.

She cried. She whimpered. Maddy couldn't take that, and so she took her to her room and into her bed. I fell exhausted, emotionally, and physically, into bed that night. By 5:00 the next morning, the dog was scratching at Maddy's door. Scott told me she usually gets up by 7:00, but at 5:00, she was begging to run around the house again. 

Tom took the dogs for a walk, which increased my anxiety level, thinking he would be annoyed, and he fed and watered them before he showered and had his own breakfast. He was very laid back about it all, and I realized his nonsense the previous night was just a bad day at work. Since I was already up, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived from two nights of early morning awakenings, I jumped at the chance to walk the dog around the block again when my neighbor showed up at 7:30 a.m. with her own pug—anything to tire her out.

We came back home, and suddenly it was as if the day before had never happened. Suddenly the dog, not to mention me, was relaxed. She slept. She didn't run around crazily. She went into her crate when I left to run errands and to see a movie. She napped with me in Madison's bed for a couple of hours. She went outside each time and did her business. When they came home from work, she played with the girls and greeted Tom with Elliot when he came home. She ate her dinner when it was time. She sat and watched us all eat, pushing Elliot out of the way when he got too close to any of us. Suddenly the dog adjusted. That, in turn, changed me. Except for another poop in my bedroom, and I blame Madison for that one, the dog was an angel.

That night I went to bed early. Jazzy was with Tom, but at some point, she got on my bed and licked me, and when I pet her, she curled up next to me and promptly went to sleep. I let her be. As my friend reminded me, our waterbed is inside a mattress and protected, and so the dog slept with us all night. I didn't mind it. Not even when she burrowed under the covers to curl up against my legs.

Darcy: "Does this mean you're going to get another dog? Get the little lap dog you keep saying you want?"

Not in a million years!

I raised two children, and I raised my dog, and now I'm going to enjoy myself. Adding more warm bodies into this household and into my life is obviously way too stressful for this soon to be retired SAHM. Someday I'll welcome grandchildren and grandpets, but for now, this is my last duty. No matter how cute he or she might be. I mean it.