... or maybe they're perfectly normal. But, boy, O, boy, do they get me!
So, today, for example, Zoe and I had a lovely walk. We went a different way than we usually do, and she and I both loved the change of scenery. We got back home, and I began working on cleaning and clearing the patio off. Said puppy has thought it a great game to dig up the dirt beneath the fence, and I'm just now getting around to filling the holes and covering it with brick. Minor detail. Really, the day was going splendidly, and I was in a fantastic mood.
Instead of leaving Zoe in the house (unsupervised) I got out a long rope, tied it securely to her leash and to a spot in the yard and then hooked her up. The rope was at least 15 feet long. She had plenty of room to roam and sniff and enjoy herself. All the while I could work on the patio, see her, and know she wasn't chewing apart the house. Perfect, right?
Well, next thing I know there's Zoe sniffing around the neighbor's patio, no rope, no leash, no collar. The buckle on her collar had broken free, and completely aware of her independence she trotted along to her heart's content.
Mischievous puppy. No tags. No leash. In the apartment complex.
I could go for paragraphs and explain in detail the next 35 minutes of my day, but suffice it to say: I was mad. (stronger language comes to mind, but I'll be modest).
I tried the bribing and the threatening. I tried throwing her a toy, and asking her to fetch. I tried chasing her, I tried ignoring her. At one point I even - get this - threw my hands up in the air and ran like a maniac, screaming at the top of my lungs like Tarzan in the direction of the house.
I stopped, out of breath (Baby's pumping 25 quarts of blood a day, I really admire women who run their whole pregnancies - this woman can't. :)), and turned around to see Zoe trotting defiantly in the opposite direction.
I followed her down to the end of our street where she joyfully rolled in a pile of trash near the dumpster.
I called her and she looked at me, and just kept rolling.
I felt totally deflated. My day was ruined. I burst into tears right then and there and sobbed my eyes out as I trudged through the grass back home.
I called Daniel (still sobbing) and told him that Zoe was the worst dog in the world, and that we were going to give her back to the shelter and that I never wanted to see her again. I said I didn't care if she got lost or kidnapped or hit by a car. In fact, it would be perfect if she could get hit by a car, because then people wouldn't have to know how much I hated her.
I went on and on about how dogs are supposed to be fun and bring us happiness, and how fleas, and picking up a thousand pieces of paper that got torn to shreds, and finding undergarments with holes in them was not fun. And it was definitely not fun to chase a stupid, ridiculous dog around the back yard for 35 minutes!!!
O, I was mad.
Daniel was the sweetest thing ever. He said he was on his way home, not to think about the dog, and we could snuggle when he got home.
So, I went to head back into the house and who should I find sitting by the door happily as if nothing ever happened?
O, I wanted to dislocate her scrawny little tail. But it wasn't worth the effort. I was too worn out, too frustrated.
We went into the house. I collapsed on my couch and Zoe collapsed on hers and I just looked at her and cried, and cried and cried. And she wagged her tail and blinked her eyes and looked as content as a well-fed baby.
This pregnant woman will be very happy to not chase any more dogs through any more back yards. Ever.
Next time, I'm just going to let her go.