pets – Story Time With Heather Pasley

I once knew a Mum in Australia who threatened her children constantly with NOT getting a dog.

The Heart Gallery–Paint Your Pet Night Backstory

Bella, if you run up ahead of me…NO DOG!!

Hamish, if you hit your brother, NO DOG!!!

I don’t even know if a dog was ever on the table. It didn’t matter. The very idea that a K-9 may one day enter their lives was enough to keep the kids in-line. I used the same threat as a joke for years. It didn’t have the same impact since I was referencing an imaginary dog that we ABSOLUTELY would never own.
My hard line didn’t stop the kids from producing multiple “why we need a dog” presentations.

There were power points, youtube videos, dog-related reality shows, and my personal favorite, a full scale lecture with visual aids and spreadsheets. None of these demonstrations had the desired effect. I was a fortress. A giant physicalized NO. Four kids, a cat, a hedgehog and a dying business seemed like enough stress and responsibility.

Lock down takes a toll on your ability to say no to your family.

Mike always wanted a Wire-Haired Pointing Griffon. It was a bucket list item for him. Not me. My bucket list consists of travel and maybe another tattoo. A dog was on my, “how bout never” list. I am not a fan of K-9 crotch investigations and have always been irritated by planning around dog needs. For example, if a dog is the reason you can’t come to Thanksgiving, you might not make it in my gratitude journal (I don’t currently have one but I will one day).

The “NO DOG” routine I rehearsed earnestly over the years, was no match for a global pandemic.

Just as the six of us were becoming feral as a result of mandated isolation, a litter of Griffs were being domesticated in Central Oregon. Mike and the kids felt the stars had aligned and the Lord Himself had brought a puppy into the world just for us. I felt like that puppy was about to piss on my party.

And so…I fought against the idea…valiantly. I brought to bear lists of my own, outlining in great detail why dogs make life harder. I told stories of my childhood pet, Wheelow, who was a biter, and liked to dance fight. I reiterated Mike’s horror stories about Gus–Gus, who was kicked out of obedience school. I pointed at my deep and abiding fear of pit bulls due to an unfortunate incident I witnessed circa 2004. My cries of “NO DOG” were met with locked arms and wide eyed longing–my red flag discarded and replaced with puppy pictures. Their strategy was impressive and deliberately designed to hack away at my resolve. Each puppy they placed in front of me had a bow around its neck with little description. Mr. Blue–a gentle giant with a penchant for art. And Mr. Red–loves people and long walks on the beach. Mr. Black–has a sweet disposition and intelligence. I added the art and beach part, but the rest is true. They were irritatingly cute.

I started to feel angry at the family for putting me in this position. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I didn’t want to keep my people from getting to love a dog. We were home all the time, growing weary, our business was shut down, and I was in a dark place as I dealt with the passing of one of my best friends in the whole world–someone who just happened to love dogs as much (if not more) than she loved people. In a weird way, I felt like continuing to stand my ground was passing on an opportunity to love something that she did.

So, I folded.

Enter Anchor

It’s downright cliche–a pandemic puppy. An animal that everyone loves and I take care of. I should give more credit to Mike. He has enjoyed more than his fair share of puppy care, but I did all the late night work. Day three, I was up all night in my closet, cursing my family and trying to love this fuzzy, needy little creature with an underdeveloped bladder. My heart strings were plucked, but all I could hear in my head like a broke LP was “what is the upside”.

The Upside

I think I love my dog. He presses down on my heart (literally) when I am overwhelmed. He looks at me with compassion when I am doing it wrong. He forces me to walk faster than I otherwise would and I think he might even love me.

Fun fact: He has made life harder.

Invitation: Paint your pet night is coming at the Heart Gallery. Bring a picture of your pet, and let’s see what we come up with:) I’m gonna paint that guy (above).

I couldn’t stop crying as I entered the Priceless Pet Clinic. Intimate crying. The kind you only let a few people in your life see due to unsightly swelling. The kind that won’t stop and makes others uncomfortable.

“I think he is done. I think he doesn’t want to do it anymore. I think he wants to be done now. ” I said between sobs as I approached the desk holding our cat. Bill writhed and whimpered and took in only hard earned breaths–his bones visible through his fur coat. All the piss and vinegar that made him the cat from hell, our cat from hell, was drained out of him, a fighter without without a ring, only a blanket.

This melodramatic scene would have been perfect for a Marlee and Me cat spin off. Especially since my tears were dripping with irony. I hated our cat. Not a malicious hate. Not like I hate suffering or cruelty. More like I hate the 49ers or room temperature milk. He was not likable. He was mean to me, my mother and pretty much everyone else too. He ruined our sleeping arrangements. He caused me and family bodily harm. He made our neighbors uncomfortable. He was aloof. He hijacked my computer. And then there was his awful habit of murdering local wildlife.

We weren’t exactly his dream humans either. He came from a wealthy family. A family that purchased him intentionally and lavished upon him accordingly. A family without small children and loud music. A family with an organized garage and clearly labeled bins for everything. A family with cat allergies.

—————————————————————————————————————————————–

“You fell for the you look like a nice family”trick? Don’t do it! You don’t even like cats! This is a bad idea. I will let you decide, but if you say yes…he is your cat.”

Mike was right. I am not a cat person. At all. I have had several downright traumatic experiences with them throughout my life.

Scritty Palitty the Kitty, our first cat, was an arsonist. He knocked a lamp over on my parents bed that led to the house fire that claimed our home when I was 3 years old Scritty survived by hiding under the house.

As a pre teen I got to know some feral cats who lived among us on the property we rented from my Grandfather. He decided to let them breed at will because they were skilled exterminators, and there was a rat problem. He was a shrewd business man.

Mike had a cat when we first started dating that hated me. Her name was Cora. She had a negative attitude and made me feel bad about myself. I think she also made his parents question my integrity.

Then there was Maggie and Tanner. Before I married Mike, I lived with his lovely sister, Kate. The aforementioned cats were hers. Tanner was socially maladjusted. He ate and hid. Hid and ate. He was weird, emotional and orange. It wasn’t right. I was always afraid that one day I would come home to him listening to the Cure. Maggie had a more interesting personality, but was reckless. She destroyed several of my most precious belongings including a set of teacups that belonged to my great grandmother. She never apologized.

This tumultuous history made it all the more surprising that I fell victim to flattery that day at the pool, when the wealthy family with cat allergies offered us a kitten named Billy. Maybe I needed affirmation that day. After all, I was a new mother of four and not exactly swimming in confidence. Maybe I just wanted to know that I was capable of loving an animal. Maybe I just needed a story to tell…

Tag: pets

Dog Ownership–What’s the upside?

Send Me the Bill