Thursday, May 5, 2011

The Perfect Pet: A Cautionary Tale, Part 6 of 10

“Raising a puppy can sometimes be stressful.” --The Puppy Whisperer, pg 83
You've probably figured out by now that I am not a “dog person.”
But by the time we’d had Jimmer for four months everyone else was in love with him. Our neighbors—every one of them a dog owner—adored him, and watched him longingly, remembering their own dog’s sweet puppy days (their dogs are all close to 100 in dog years). Our girls thought he was the best dog ever and wrote songs about him. He got fan mail from Scott’s grandma and my mom even sent a package all the way across the country filled with chew toys, balls and rawhide strips. And just in case you thought I was exaggerating:
the package

the loot

I couldn’t get away from him. He was there in the house with me all day. Sometimes I would take my younger two children to the park, just so I didn't have to think about him for a while. But invariably while we were out we’d see another dog and then I’d remember the devil voodoo dog waiting for me at home.
Then one night I had the most terrible experience. (Stop reading now if you are easily disturbed.)
It was a dark and stormy night. I awoke to thunder rattling the windows and rain pouring outside like someone had decided to dump the ocean over our house. My clock said 2 am. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to get up and make myself some warm milk.
Without waking Scott, I got up and opened the bedroom door. Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, and a strange glow was coming from the kitchen.
I have desk in my kitchen where I keep my laptop, and I could see that the laptop was open. Why was it glowing? Did I leave it on?
Thunder crashed. Lightning flashed.
Then I saw it. Someone--or something--was sitting in my chair, using my computer. My heart started beating in my throat as I eased my way closer. Please tell me it isn’t…
But it was. There, sitting at my desk was Jimmer, typing something on my laptop. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing things correctly. I walked closer, inching towards him as stealthily as I could. What was he doing? What was he looking at? I had to see! Thunder crashed! Lightning flashed!
Soon I was right up behind him, and I could almost see the screen, but his head and ears were blocking my view. Then, his ear twitched and I froze in place like a statue. Slowly he turned the swivel chair around to face me.
He was wearing my glasses.
And my apron.
“G’day, Mate.” He said.

That is when I woke up screaming.
Scott was awake in a second. “What is it? What is it?” He asked.
“Its Jimmer! Its Jimmer!” I shouted.
“What? What happened? Is he sick? Is he hurt?”
“What is it then?”
“I—,” I took a deep breath. “I--can’t tell you.”
“What do you mean, you can’t tell me? I’m your husband. You tell me everything.”
No, I thought, not everything. Not that I think our dog is more intelligent than I am. Not that Jimmer is psychologically destroying me. Not that I think you spend more time with Jimmer than me and I’M YOUR WIFE. I didn’t say any of these things. But I did make Scott get out of bed and make sure that Jimmer was locked in his den.
When he came back he said, “Jimmer is just fine. He was just sleeping away in the crate. Don’t worry, Chelsea. Nothing bad is going to happen to our dog.”
I rolled over and tried to close my eyes. If only something bad would happen to him.
After that I couldn’t go to sleep for a long time. This dog was overtaking my life. Not only was I unable to get away from him during the day, but now he was part of my nights, too.
I kept remembering Jimmer’s threat to me that he was so smart that he didn’t have to “resort to the tactics of lower breeds.” Why couldn’t we have gotten a dumb dog that would have just messed on the carpet or chewed up the couch if he was upset? Why did we have to get a dog that knew how to destroy me from the inside out? And the worst part was, how was I supposed to get help? Who would believe me? Everyone would think I was crazy. And maybe I was.
But then I remembered one happy thing. Tomorrow the dog fence would be installed.
And it was electric. Click here for Part 7



    Okay, so it's cute. DOG cute.

    Great writing! (And is that the real issue?! That Jimmer gets more attention than you?! Or at least part of the issue?!)

  2. Is it bad that I want an electric fence and I don't have a dog?

    It's bad, isn't it.