So on the morning of my 20th week, I am greeted by a rainy day. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me because I welcome all seasons and all weather, as long as I haven’t had more of it that I need, but today was a different circumstance.
We have agreed to dogsit for two other dogs while my in-laws are out of town, which isn’t a big deal because they keep Achilles all the time when we travel. He is a fantastically trained dog, who for the most part lives to please, but as I have learned is easily influenced. The other dogs aren’t bad, they just don’t do what I tell them to do because I’m not their master, but I don’t handle being ignored well.
We have a nice routine of handling the dogs, which was lazy, I will now admit. Although they all have kennels, Achilles is the only one who is actually accustomed to sleeping and being in his when there aren’t people around to keep him out of trouble. I like controlling everything, so what. The other two dogs I like, but they are no Achilles. One, I have a particular adoration for because he is elderly and doesn’t get excited. The other, is adorable but doesn’t seem to know what his name is, or doesn’t answer to it. Either way, I find it annoying because I can’t verbally control him. But, all in all, they are pretty good dogs.
Our routine is as follows: Husband takes them out of the garage, which is where we have decided to let them roam about ( No Name screeches uncontrollably when put in his kennel, and Old One is trustworthy and all, but I don’t even like Achilles roaming when no one is around, so the garage seemed to be the safest place to keep them all without problems) and puts them in the backyard. When I wake up at 7am or whenever, I let them back inside and they climb all over the furniture until I leave for work. Achilles has started shedding his winter coat and I have attempted to banish him from our marital bed and maybe even furniture, but I know this will be a battle that I most likely will lose, so while I apply my makeup I imagine the dogs getting invisible hairs all over the place, resulting in me ‘drawing’ in angry eyebrows.
Once I leave for work, its back to the garage with them. When Randy gets home, he lets them back out, and they come back in and commence crawling all over the furniture and wrestling around until bedtime at 8:30, where they return to their dungeon that used to hold our cars.
Well, like I said 6 paragraphs ago, today was different. I knew it was raining when Randy kissed me goodbye, and I knew I should have let them back in before I went to sleep, but I said, f*** it, me and the baby have some sleeping to do. 7am comes, and I decide to let them back in. They are on the porch, frantically scratching at the door. which causes me to immediately glare at them all. I decided instead of allowing them the pleasure of climbing on the furniture, I would put them all back in the dungeon and continue my morning. Since I was carrying the bag of treats, it should have been easy. WRONG.
They all run inside, and take off for the couch where they all shake themselves off in unison. I am screaming every word of profanity I know, some words not even matching the situation while I am chasing 3 dogs under 12lbs through the kitchen, dining room, and living room. My sweet Achilles, who usually behaves himself is caught up in the moment and refuses to respond to my direction. I am in a white robe splattered with dog hair, rain and mud, chasing these animals through my house. I stop and ask myself, self, are you really going to let dogs get the best of you? They can’t even talk, they don’t have thumbs, and they should have rules, boundaries and schedules. Like children. If I can’t handle 3 stupid dogs, what do I think will happen when Blake makes his appearance, and I am now caring for a dog, husband, and baby?
I decide to divide and conquer. Old One has lost the joy of pursuit after about 15 minutes, so I am able to get him in there first. No Name is running hard, despite his weird limp, and I am hobbling around trying to catch him and not slip on the wet floor. I decide to go after him last. I stop in my tracks and yell ACHILLES at the top of my lungs with as much fury as I could muster. He stops, I pick him up, I may or may have not spanked him until I made it to the garage-dungeon, where he was tossed in with his older, obviously wiser cousin. His No Name uncle was now my final battle. I waddle towards him as quickly as possible, momentarily forget that Blake is inside of me, witnessing the scenario through his baby ears, and DIVE for him. He is caught, and I’m carrying him the way I’ve seen mama dogs carry their puppies, 1. because I’m pissed and I know it’s uncomfortable 2. because he’s soaking wet and I’m also really grossed out. He, too is tossed into the dungeon with the others and as soon as I close the door he and Achilles start scratching and barking like there’s a monster in there.
I relish their distress while I get ready, and head to the fridge. I HAVE NO BREAKFAST. I stare, trying to will a carton of eggs to materialize out of nothing. My eyes blur with tears. When I look around the kitchen I am finally faced with the aftermath of 3 dirty dogs and I start hyperventilating. Then I forget that Blake is there again and start using mismatched profanity. Tiny paw prints everywhere. Invisible dog hair floating in my good breathing air. My couch…
I decide to take a personal day, and return when I am able to apply my makeup, clean up the mess, and after I have made a trip to the grocery store. I consider taking the entire day off, then realize that would then put me in the company of 3 dogs that I want to individually drown in the bathtub for an entire day.
I call my mom crying while I am shopping in the grocery store. Then I clean like a meth addict. I sweep the floors, I clean the kitchen from top to bottom, and get rid of all the paw prints and as much of the invisible dog hair as I could find. All while they continue to howl and scratch from the dungeon.
Once I can sit back and survey my fine work I decide that I am still, indeed angry with the dogs, and need to do something that will teach them a lesson without violence. So I line up each of their kennels in the hallway, and one by one, place them in their respective rooms. Achilles seems to know that he is in trouble so he puts up no fight. Old One, while in the least amount of trouble is guilty by association, and goes next. Of course No Name makes me chase him again. But, they all looked miserable in their kennels, and it made me feel like I had regained a little bit of my control. I will continue to kennel them until they are released from our home on Saturday.
I think what bothered me the most about the situation, which is now a little more funny to me, is that I had no control. I am months away from being a mother and I have a dirty house, piles of laundry, empty fridge, and not enough hours in the day to maintain it all. I watch my weight slowly climb and remind myself of what its for, but wonder how in the hell will I get my gym routine back if I can’t keep my house running. I want a career, social life, and a better body. I also want time to myself. How am I going to handle all of this? I really have no good answer for this.