I feel that the short amount of time elapsed between THIS post and the one you’re feasting your eyes on at the moment has the potential to make me sound shallow, mentally unstable or even insensative. I’m none of those things, my current “situation” fell into my lap, and he was too good a deal to pass up 😉
To be crystal clear, when I say didn’t prepare me for what was to come, I mean on an emotional level, I could tell you the psychological ramifications to both me and my new puppy while it was happening, but emotionally I was hanging upside down from my ceiling, clawing to keep myself up.
Being the organizational freak that I am I read my way through How to Raise the Perfect Dog and half way through Be the Pack Leader – which accounts for my “wealth of knowledge” on the proper way to handle puppies, how to prepare them to be a great dog and what not to do – but I was beyond anxious, and I let it get the better of me.
After dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s, I placed the soon to be Louie in his crate with his new toy and headed home. An hour in, we were doing great, there was almost no whining, he was sleeping soundly in the crate and I was singing along to the latest Adele album and I remember thinking to myself “wow, could this be any easier?!” I immediately regretted ever uttering those words. The next three hours were filled with me trying to clean puppy puke out of a crate in my backseat whilst driving on the hwy, clambering up four flights of stairs with one 8.5 lb meatloaf, his crate and my sanity, and the largest puppy poop I’ve ever seen – placed directly in the middle of my bathmat. Lemme just say that when the time comes for you to clean warm puppy puke out of the backseat of a moving car, without killing yourself or the precious cargo that’s inside all the while crying hard enough to BRUISE your eyes upon waking in a morning stupor …you can do anything.
The next three days were filled with panic attack after panic attack after PANIC ATTACK. No, I’m not talking about “omg, omgomg, OMG what am I going to do?” I’m talking like the same sort of deep inner anxiety that comes when your car is swaying off the edge of the Grand Canyon and you need to make a decision whether to let the car fall or climb into the backseat, muster up some serious gumption and get the eff out of that hunk of junk from Tijuana.
If you can’t already guess, I chose to LIVE DAMMIT!
Of course this decision took me three days, but I finally made it and I was able to get on with my new life. I don’t really have an answer as to why I sobbed my way through first three days – although many of my friends and family apparently do. Answers varying from “an emotional reaction due to my lost freedom” to “you were an emotional breakdown waiting to happen” to “maybe because you won’t be able to keep your place clean now and your obsessive OCD will take over your life…”- but I do know that the OUTPOURING of support from them helped calm my nerves and get me into that backseat.
One friend in particular mentioned that they went through the exact same emotional overload when they picked up their little one, but that they spent so much time worrying about her and how their life would change because of their new addition that they missed out on some special memories. Message received.