Friday, July 08, 2011

The birds, the bees and the monkey babies, Mulder.

You guys, I think Max might have PTSD. See, he's terrified of thunderstorms, right? I feel like this is well-documented...on this blog. But anyway. We didn't have him last year during the July 4th festivities but we assumed that he'd be afraid of fireworks since they make even bigger BOOM FUN noises than thunderstorms.

We discovered that, yes, he is just as terrified of firecracker booms as thunder booms when we were out walking one night (Independence Day Eve Eve or something) and someone set off some amateur fireworks because of course they did. Max stopped for a moment, looked at us in abject terror, and then took off as fast as his little legs could carry him. But he was mostly fine after a bit because they had been far away so they were just little booms.

We decided to walk him around before ten on July 4th, because the real fireworks started at ten and we knew we would never get him outside at that time. We thought we were safe. We were wrong. Because some jackhole in the block of condos next to us set off a huge, esplodey firework just as we had Max to that point. Oh my god, you guys, I thought he was going to reach light speed, such was his haste to get back inside. We couldn't even get him to pee, which was a problem, because we have him on a very strict pee and poo schedule. We talk about Max's poop (or lack thereof) at least five times a day. It's weird. Such is the joy of pet ownership. Anyway.

I tried to take him on another walk that night, after the fireworks were over, but he would barely come out the front door. He went out long enough to pee and then he raced back inside like there were bombs falling outside, which I guess maybe he thought there were? I felt so bad, though! He looked so sad and pathetic so I just gave him extra treats and cuddles.

I thought that would be the end of it, but every night we walk him around nine o'clock, which is the same time he almost got blown up in a firecracker. We try to take him on the usual path, and it happens to be the same path we took him on the night of July 4th. I thought this would be no problem. I mean, dogs don't really have long memories, right? But he won't even go that way! He will during the day, he's fine, but he refuses to walk that way at night. Do you think he thinks there will be another FIRECRACKER BOOM EXPLOSION? But yeah, that's how he got PTSD.

This is (very) slightly related, but I'm trying to convince Joe that we need to get a pet pig. He was all, "we can get a pet pig after we have a baby," but I think he's just saying that because he hopes that if I have a cute baby, I won't want a cute pig but that's not true at all because I'll probably just want a cute pig even MORE because a pig (probably) won't pee and poop on me, PLUS BONUS it will make adorable oinking noises AND will have a curly tail. If I get a baby with a tail, I'm gonna be pissed.

But my point is (I guess) that it should go: Dog, Pig, Baby. Like, obviously, you get a dog before you have a baby because you have to make sure you can keep another living thing (besides yourself) alive. But I think you should get a pig between the dog and the baby because a pig is a pet like a dog but it's pink and hairless like a baby so it's the perfect transition between a dog and baby. I mean, it's practically a baby. It's a practice baby! Anyway, I think Joe's just worried that if I get a pig, why would I want a baby? Actually, that's a really valid point.

Whatever. Did you know you can adopt pigs from Petfinder? Don't tell Joe.


  1. Your logic is flawless on this. I really don't see how Joe can hold out.

    And poor Max :( Maybe you need to reverse traumatize him or something. Like, take him on that path at night and then give him something he really really loves every ten steps or so.

  2. Poor Max. Also, when I get my baby teacup pig, I am naming her Olive Snook. Like, for real. I have it all planned out.

  3. Abigail10:21 PM

    This was all so good. I wish you blogged every day.

  4. Ashley, that's a good idea! We'll have to try bribing him with treats on his next walk. He's so weird.

    Gretchen, that is the perfect name for a teacup pig...I'm already jealous of your hypothetical pet.

    Abs, I am trying to blog more often. You know...starting, like, yesterday.

  5. (1) the only thing we talk about any more is winston's poop. sigh.

    (2) my brother's old roommate had a pig named jefferson. it bit me. so, you know, there's that.

  6. Blogger ate my comment about my childhood dog always wiggling out of his collar and running home whenever we got near the house of the big dog on our street, even years after the big dog died. Dogs = remember-y.

    Your pig paragraph gave me the LOLs.

  7. kat, well, dogs and cats poop a lot. I suppose there are worse things to talk about.

    mg! poor puppy! I guess they do have good memories.

  8. I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of pigs as pets.