They say that getting a puppy is like a practice-run for having children. If this is the true, then I have the equivalent of a 13-month old toddler running around my house shedding and slobbering on everything. I think that there is some truth to this notion, as there are a lot of similarities between raising a puppy and raising a child: You lose your independence, you lose sleep, you lose 'me' time, and you can never have nice things. And the nice things that you do have are ruined very fast.
Puppies and children also teach you things that you may never have otherwise known. For instance, you learn that there is no where that is inappropriate to sing nursery rhymes when the crying/whining won't stop. You learn how to function after a maximum of four non-consecutive hours of sleep, night after night. You also learn the many different consistencies and colours of poop, and what a poop face/walk looks like. You learn to tolerate teething.
Today I learned something else. I already knew that I am not good with gross things, like puke. It's not that I am scared of it or squeamish, but rather that I have an over-active propensity for gagging. And once you gag once, that's game over, and I am useless to aid the situation. So imagine today, when my big puppy dragged a dead animal into my house and proceeded to bury it in the folds of my leather couch, how proud of myself I was that I didn't gag and become useless!
I approached the couch apprehensively, paper towel in hand, ready to clean up the disgusting dead thing stuffed into the corner of my couch. I gingerly pushed the couch cushion out of the way, trying to figure out 1) what kind of dead animal was stuffed in there, and 2) how to remove it with making more of a mess and/or touching it. The animal wasn't easily identifiable as it had clumps of mud stuck to it, and it appeared to be mangled, which made sense as my dog had probably played with it to death. But based on the colour and the slimy-looking consistency of what appeared to be skin, I decided it was a dead frog.
This is the point that I refrained from gagging, but I bailed. Hard. I basically begged my husband to come have a look at this disgusting carcass and remove it from the couch while I stood and watched from afar, perched on the tippy-toes of one foot, just in case the frog somehow came back to life and made a run at me. I realize how ridiculous this was, but it seemed like the situation called for this extreme of a reaction. Until my husband dug into the couch, removed the offending object, and declared it to be not a frog, not a dead animal, but rather a crumpled piece of swiss cheese, which we often reward our puppy with when she's been a good dog.
Kind of embarrassing! But I certainly learned something from the experience, in that I can add bailing and begging to my list of reactions to disgusting things. At least I learned this now, before I embarrass myself in front of my future children, when they drag gross things in front the garden. I guess there is truth to the thought that having a puppy is a good trial run for kids after all...
Photo Credit: Flickriver