Our Messed Up Pets

After the first 2 parts of this series covered cats, this one has to do with a poodle named Sugar. My oldest daughter had wanted a dog for quite a while, but her mother was not skeptical and her father was passionately against it. Her saving grace was that her grandmother wanted her to have a dog so she could do 4-H with her aunt and uncle. And so, we adopted Sugar.

He and I got off to a very bad start. The very same night we brought him home, he climbed up on the bed in the middle of the night and peed on me. It was like he analyzed the situation enough to know his biggest obstacle to remaining in the house long term was me, but instead of endearing himself to me, his strategy was to infuriate me. A few hours into the relationship, I was already of the mind to make him an outside dog at the very least.

Over the next few days, we avoided one another. I wanted nothing to do with him after that K9P incident and he seemed to perceive that distance from me was called for. His tightly round brown curls and wavy bangs that partially obstructed his eyes were cute enough, but he and I were like oil and...K9P.

I resolved to take no responsibility for the poodle. He was my daughter's dog so she should do all of the maintenance associated with the beast (I think I may have actually termed it that way). It was about then that I realized that my wife and daughter were driving to California for a wedding that weekend and odds were they wouldn't be taking the little monster with them. They were expecting me to watch him for 3 days and they were probably even counting on me keeping him alive while they were gone. My suspicions were confirmed. My wife assured me that it wasn't going to be that big of a burden. How hard could it really be to take care of a puppy?

When my son was a toddler, he had a habit of vomiting every time his mother went someplace overnight. I don't know if there was a causality or if it was just coincidence, but it happened every single time. So, of course, they set out upon their journey and the boy made it less than an hour before he began eating in reverse (that phrase makes sense in my head, but I'm not sure if it makes sense on paper). As this was not unexpected, I was prepared for the moment both physically and mentally. No big deal. He didn't have a fever, he wasn't turning unnatural colors, and he was already back to watching ESPN. Yes, he started deliberately watching ESPN as a toddler. I was extremely proud.

Fate wasn't done with me, yet. No sooner had I cleaned up the spew of the child, but the poodle began doing the same thing. I had never had a dog before, so I didn't know if that was just what dogs do. Cats have hairballs, I reasoned, so maybe dogs have fur balls? My protocols for the son throwing up didn't seem applicable to this situation since I didn't know how to take a dog's temperature and I didn't have any idea what a normal temp for a mutt was anyways. It was tempting just to let puking dog lie for a few days until my wife got back to assess the situation herself, but calling her seemed to be the wiser move. I explained the scenario to her. Despite my pleas and attempts at bribery, she simply wasn't going to turn around and drive home. She said that if I was worried about Sugar, I should call the vet.

I called the vet and explained my dilemma in detail. The vet, in a tone that bordered on mockery, said, "You really think that your poodle puppy needs to come to the animal hospital because he threw up a little?" Based on the sarcasm of the question, I inferred that she definitely didn't think it was an emergency. I also inferred that she thought I was a crazy dog person who treated his puppy like it was his baby. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it wasn't worth explaining how I actually treat my baby like my baby and I had nothing but disdain for the hairball, thus I graciously thanked her and hung up the phone.

Sugar survived the weekend. He was an important part of the family for a good many years after that, and he was truly a fine companion for both daughters. While he and I never exactly became pals, we had a working truce that kept the peace, and he never peed on me again. As it turned out, the poodle was a gateway dog who prepared the way for more dogs later, including the one that would become his constant accomplice.