Muse. Ramble. Rant. Repeat


We aren’t here to discuss the fish lovers.

There are three types of people in this world:

People who like cats.

People who like dogs.

And those poor souls who like fish. We aren’t here to discuss the fish lovers.

I have now and always will be a cat person. A cat, especially my cat, a 5 year old 20lb black and white tabby named Dante, is easy. I feed him twice a day. He enjoys a good cuddle in the morning and just before I go to bed but that is as much attention as he needs.

CJ is now and always will be a dog person. A dog, especially the 100lb creature he wishes to acquire, demands constant attention. You can’t do anything without considering the dog. You can’t fill a dog’s bowl up and leave it for the weekend. Apparently a dog loves you in ways the cat could never but I’m not sure about that.

I don’t want a dog. If I wanted to be responsible for another creature I would have a baby. And despite CJ swearing up and down it will be his dog and his responsibility I know, like with all things we do, the responsibility will be at least 50/50.

As a couple you make compromises in your relationship. Sometimes you have to give in not because you want to but because it’s the right thing to do. He so seldom asks of anything from me that when he has a simple request – even one that will change our lives forever and make us responsible for a needy creature I feel like I have to do it.

I’ve read the books. I’ve talked to dog owners. I’ve insisted on spending lots of time with dogs.  Apparently it’s going to be fine. Apparently I will fall in love with the slobbering creature and magically transform from happy cat lady into crazy dog lady. Apparently.

As soon as I relented and agreed to let a creature into our lives, CJ found a list of potential breeders. He’s been researching the best ones and what to look for in a dog. He’s happily considering various dog foods and dog vets and other dog things. I’ve never seen him so productive over … anything.

Despite a full round of heel dragging I’ve agreed to participate in the selection process. I mean I agreed to this ridiculous scenario so I’m going to go all in.

This morning I sent an email to a breeder asking about a German Sheppard puppy.

What’s that? It’s spelt shepherd eh? Hmmm, oops. My bad. Hopefully it doesn’t prevent the woman from answering my email because she thinks we’re too dumb to own a dog.

… hey, just because I agreed to something doesn’t mean I have to give up my passive aggressive measures to prevent it from happening.

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