I’ve never been a “pet” person. I’ve never been an “animal of any kind” person. In fact, the thought of having a pet other than our dear, hairless, odorless, low-maintenance, amphibian Sparky, truly makes me want to reach for a couple Benadryl and head for the nearest bathroom and a hot, cleansing shower with lots of soap and a scouring pad.
My kind-hearted Maddie has been on a mission for a “soft pet you can cuddle with” and she’s been talking about getting a Chinchilla for weeks. She researched all she could and finally talked Bill into taking her to the pet store to see a real one, talk to an expert and find out how much it would cost. They came to find out that Chinchillas are not as cuddly as they appear, they require fairly large, multi-level cages, they shed, and they cost quite a bit more than what Maddie has in her piggybank.
The Chinchilla idea was nixed pretty quickly.
And then they all spotted him in a clump of other little bodies.
Actually, they tell me that he picked them out first. Like a sign from heaven. Like an epiphany. Like it was destiny.
They held him. They cuddled him. They played with him. They named him.
Meet Kevin:
And then they all ganged up on me:
Please, mom! He’s so cute.
He’s so calm!
Please!
He’s hypoallergenic…that means you would sneeze when you’re around him!
Please, mom, please!
Isn’t he cute!?!
He’s so soft and he’s got a little beard!
You would love him!
He doesn’t shed at all!
We already named him!
He really likes us!
Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…
This little tiny part of me just wanted to say “YES! I know he’s cute! Get him! Bring him home to live with us! Yes, yes, yes!”
But the other 99.999999% of me said, “Have you all lost your freakin’ minds??? Who’s going to clean up after him? Who’s going to feed him? Who’s going to let him outside in the middle of winter when the wind chill is 42 below zero? Who is going to pay for his shots and his vet bill? Who’s going to wake up at 3am to let him out? Who is going to check what’s wrong with him when he’s barking? Who’s going to buff out the claw scratch marks on our hardwood floors? Who’s going to wipe up the saliva trail on the walls? Who’s going to bend over with a baggie-covered hand and pick his crap out of the neighbor’s yard?”
And then I stopped to catch my breath before I answered my own question: “NOT ME!”
And then I proceeded to give my 9 yr olds a little lesson in microgermophobia from my own warped and slightly OCD mind– “You know that they poop and then they sit out your carpet and then you come by later and put your hand in the same place they were sitting and then you get a bunch of poop-germs on your hand and then you use that same hand to touch the door or the counter or to rub your own eye. Don't you get it?? That means dog shit eventually ends up covering your entire house…and in your eye!!!” (don’t worry readers, I’m well aware of how crazy this may sound to you…but that’s just how my mind works)
And then I ended with, “And when he pees on my carpet for the first time - I. AM. GOING. TO. FREAK. OUT.”
So, after some more pleading and a few tears, our family had decided to table this discussion. But I think that the only way I could possibly reconsider owning a dog would be following a series of allergy shots and some extensive therapy.
But he is kinda cute…