The Dogs and Me

I often admit here that I lack any sort of normal social abilities. I don’t know how to properly connect with people, and I certainly don’t understand how to properly converse with others. My friends are exceptions to this, because they often also share this lack of ability to behave “properly” on some level. Though I’ve known several people who’ve died, I only cried once at a funeral. I’ve always associated this with the fact I lack a sense of connection. People probably will judge me on this, or for being so blunt about it. Even on TV, I have a hard time getting upset over a death of a character. I get mad, but I quickly get over it. I sometimes think that I develop more connections with fictional characters than real ones, but even still I accept this as life.

Soon after having my son, I realized I couldn’t stand seeing a child killed on TV. I couldn’t look, even if it was implied. I don’t recall having this cringe effect prior, but afterwards I just couldn’t deal with it. Kill the adults, but leave the kids out of this. Their innocence, I just couldn’t accept that at all. I could sit through the goriest murder scene in movies if it involves an adult, but the minute a baby died on a House episode, I had to leave the room. At least that made me feel a little more human realizing I’m not a complete emotionless shell.


Princess Zoey loves Christmas.

Last night though, I had trouble sleeping and watched TV. When I couldn’t sleep at night while pregnant, I remember every time they showed an infomercial for The Humane Society I would cry hysterically over them. I had pregnancy hormones to blame, but there was something about those shivering dogs that pulled at my ice-cold little heart. Only the cute ones though, I’m ashamed to admit. Back to the point, last night I saw an episode of “Sister Wives” where they actually showed the father digging a hole in anticipation of putting his dog to sleep. Then they showed the dog on a blanket in the yard, while you see the vet filling a needle with what was obviously the medicine to put this dog to sleep. Then they made you watch as they pet and hugged the dog as it fell asleep. Then they showed the family burying the dog. I found it offensively graphic. I found it inappropriate to air on TV. Why would you want to have cameras tape a heartbreaking moment as putting your dog to sleep? I couldn’t deal with it.

Dog boy Tank

Dog boy Tank

After that, I immediate whispered little Zoey’s name and called her on the bed. She climbed up and cuddled with me, and I practically fell asleep next to her. Watching that had the same effect as watching a kid on TV get hurt. I wanted to hug her and pretend she was an immortal little puppy dog, my little princess Mal-shi. Tank, while not exactly as small as Zoey, is a lovable cuddly oaf of a small dog. He thinks he’s smaller than he is, and acts like our little baby of the house.

I love my puppy sized dogs. Don’t worry, we don’t put clothes on them every day, but for silly pictures to make people either hate us or go “awwww.” I wonder if I love them more than I love most people. I probably do. Dogs are loyal, always around to love you, and keep you entertained. I don’t like cats, they don’t quite love you in the same selfless way. Will a cat claw someone who tries to hurt me or my family? Nope. Will a cat cuddle up next to my baby son and pretend that he is the baby in their litter and try to shower it with love? Nope. Plus, the advantage of having dogs over human friends is they don’t talk. They bark incessantly, they jump all over the place as if they are children. But in a way, they are my children. My furry little immortal puppy sized dogs.


Before I begin with the post, I’d like to tell my readers of a format change for next week. My usual attempts at a Monday, Wednesday, and Friday blog will not exist next week. However, I will be enjoying geekdom in Boston, as I attend Pax East as I have since it started 3 years ago. What does this mean to you, my readers? This means my 3 days will occur Friday-Sunday, (the 6-8). Even cooler than that, if you happen to be fans of everything geek as I am, I will be covering my weekend with videos, blogs, and live tweets from the event. I may even consider running live streams for certain events, but I’ll revisit this before my leaving. I hope that you enjoy it, because I know I’ll enjoy sharing it with you.

Now, the post. The embarrassingly and true story of Reeses.

Shortly after graduating college, I had a bit of a battle of just not feeling right. I didn’t have a place, as I had decided I’d rather do anything but teach and I had a degree almost as useless as one in philosophy or liberal arts. I felt alone, out of place, and I didn’t feel good about myself or anything else. My boyfriend (now husband) had ignored me as I had a rule that no food was allowed in my room. I hate crumbs in the bed, and it ruined my disorganized “feng-shui”. He didn’t listen of course, they never do, and left the bag of Reese’s Cups opened and prime for mouse fodder. And mouse fodder it was.

At first, I was scared of the mouse. The OCD me only thought of the germs and bacteria this mouse and its feces probably carried, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Then, I named him Reeses, and refused to have him killed. I had grown attached to that diseased and disgusting little rodent, and he was my only friend. I talked to this mouse, this ugly little thing as if he were a person. I didn’t care he was a diseased little rodent, and I would probably scream if I saw it and refused to touch it if it came near me. But he was my closest and dearest friend… ok, I can’t be sure it was actually a he, but I’ll just go with it. I look back in shame though, I had actually gone so low in my sadness I had befriended and personified a house rodent. Either way, he was almost as comforting as the crazy little squirrel who threw acorns at my window to prevent me from sleeping the sad away.

Reeses’ story didn’t end well, he ended up in a mousetrap baited with a Reese’s Cup. I learned my lesson too, I don’t think I ever want to feel that alone that I befriend a diseased and ugly rodent. That’s why I’m glad I have dogs, Zoey might eat poop and Tank might have perpetual “derp face”, but at least they aren’t house mice. Somehow it’s more acceptable to become friends with poop eating dogs than peanut butter cup eating mice, but at least I can cuddle with one of my cat sized mooshy dogs when I feel like I’m about to make friends with a rodent. And remember readers…. People can be rodents to.