Pet therapy
I recently heard about someone who brings her dog with her to therapy. Not an animal therapist for the dog, but to her psychologist or whatever for herself. The dog apparently helps her with her own therapy. I don't know -- I think I'd not be too psyched to be the next patient on that couch (although better a dog than a cat, for me; I'd be dying of an allergy attack, and isn't that something the therapist ought to be concerned about?).
Anyway, over the weekend I realized because of my dog that I probably need therapy (I'm not sure if I need therapy because of him, or if my relationship with him has just illuminated for me that I have global Issues). Tucker hates it when the Smelmooo is not around, and he is a huge attention whore when it's just the two of us. I think it's worse on the weekends because I'm physically in the house more, but not spending all of my time with him, and he feels neglected and pissed.
Which, this weekend, he chose to point out by: (1) peeing on the rug, which he hasn't done in like six months and (2) chewing up my brand-new belt, which I'd not even worn yet (this one is my own damn fault for leaving it on the floor, but he hasn't chewed on our stuff in literally months. I'll also point out that his collar was on the floor in the same room as the belt, but that was untouched). He did both of these things on separate occasions when I was working in the office (where he's not allowed). God, that's like your kid drawing you a picture of your family and you're not in it, and you ask why, and he says, "Because you're never at home." Right through the heart.
So tomorrow I'm putting him in day care so he can run around with doggie friends, because I feel horribly guilty for neglecting him, and then I worry that all of my priorities are all out of whack, and then I shake my head at myself because he's a dog and he should not have this level of control over me, and I should really stop being sympathetic and just punish him without a lick of guilt or remorse because he ate my damn belt. See? Issues.
On an unrelated note, I was listening to Wait, Wait,...Don't Tell Me in the car yesterday (yes, sans Tucker) and one of the questions was about how Germany is trying to curb its nursing shortage by recruiting prostitutes to become nurses. I'd like to somehow incorporate that tidbit into a Crazy People-style ad campaign in the U.S. This my be my fantasy project for the week, while I ignore my dog.
Anyway, over the weekend I realized because of my dog that I probably need therapy (I'm not sure if I need therapy because of him, or if my relationship with him has just illuminated for me that I have global Issues). Tucker hates it when the Smelmooo is not around, and he is a huge attention whore when it's just the two of us. I think it's worse on the weekends because I'm physically in the house more, but not spending all of my time with him, and he feels neglected and pissed.
Which, this weekend, he chose to point out by: (1) peeing on the rug, which he hasn't done in like six months and (2) chewing up my brand-new belt, which I'd not even worn yet (this one is my own damn fault for leaving it on the floor, but he hasn't chewed on our stuff in literally months. I'll also point out that his collar was on the floor in the same room as the belt, but that was untouched). He did both of these things on separate occasions when I was working in the office (where he's not allowed). God, that's like your kid drawing you a picture of your family and you're not in it, and you ask why, and he says, "Because you're never at home." Right through the heart.
So tomorrow I'm putting him in day care so he can run around with doggie friends, because I feel horribly guilty for neglecting him, and then I worry that all of my priorities are all out of whack, and then I shake my head at myself because he's a dog and he should not have this level of control over me, and I should really stop being sympathetic and just punish him without a lick of guilt or remorse because he ate my damn belt. See? Issues.
On an unrelated note, I was listening to Wait, Wait,...Don't Tell Me in the car yesterday (yes, sans Tucker) and one of the questions was about how Germany is trying to curb its nursing shortage by recruiting prostitutes to become nurses. I'd like to somehow incorporate that tidbit into a Crazy People-style ad campaign in the U.S. This my be my fantasy project for the week, while I ignore my dog.
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