I fought the lawn… and the lawn won
I thought I might keep a record of what it’s like to live in a household with creatures who do not listen to me, namely 1) a husband known for being frugal but who loves his bulldog more than any budget, 2) teens who prefer to store all valuables where they fall, and 3) a bulldog in a major state of chewage.
It’s awfully hard to get anything done around here when I have this cuteness dreaming up ways to distract me.
I mean, when Mojo is snoring so loud you can hear him while you’re cleaning the bathroom upstairs, you might as well put down the Pine-Sol and come rub his belly instead.
The next day my car interior was completely awash in toxic fumes. I took it to the local car wash and made a deal with the guys to shampoo the upholstery. While I waited, I called the veterinary hospital for the third time that day to see what was going on with Mojo.
ER Vet: Hmmm, well, there’s no more vomiting, he hasn’t had a diarrhea episode since 5 am, his temperature and color are good and he seems back to his normal self. But we’re not going to let him go just yet.
REALITY CHECK NO. 1
ER Hospitalization: $255.84
Ka-ching!
Let’s take a quick moment to remember that I did not want to own an English Bulldog.
Let’s remember that Hubby wanted an English Bulldog for years and years despite the fact they have health problems, are difficult to train and are famous for being really stinky.
Let’s also remember that I finally had to accept the fact that Hubby would not be denied, and after years of waiting, he got his English Bulldog.
Remember that Mojo is Hubby’s dog.
Everybody remember all this? Okay. Let’s move on.
A long time ago Hubby wanted an English Bulldog, a desire I sincerely felt was about as kooky as wanting to spend a couple of nights dangling off Mt. Everest. I mean, sure, it’s something we CAN do, but why would we WANT to?
Not only are bulldogs funky-looking, but they are famous for being difficult to train and having serious health problems that cost their owners beaucoup bucks.
So Hubby and I compromised. I got to pick our first dog because our boys were still young and he felt I would know better what would work best with our family at that time.
And then later—in the far, far away future—he’d get to pick the next dog, when our boys were older and could help out and it really didn’t matter if I had to work a bit harder with our dog.
So in 1993 I picked a Standard Poodle. What wonderful dog he turned out to be! Clean, non-shedding, friendly and ultra-patient with kids. Training was a breeze—he was house-broken almost immediately and was the star pupil in all his obedience classes. He doesn’t yap, he loves to go camping, and everyone adores him.
But now Casey Dog is getting old. At age 12 he’s still pretty spry for a Standard, but he’s going deaf and he sleeps a lot. And now Hubby is reminding me of my promise.
And Hubby wants a bulldog.
He doesn’t care about the cost of a bulldog. He doesn’t care how we’ll spend a fortune on veterinary bills. He doesn’t care about how we’ll probably lose all of our furniture legs to little bulldog teething patterns.
Nope.
My strongest and best argument was how a Bulldog puppy would be murder on our carpets, because bulldogs take forever to house-break. So Hubby agreed to replace our elderly carpet with a laminate floor. After we installed the floor last summer I was plum out of arguments.
So now we’re getting a bulldog.