What You Put Into It

The saying goes...you get out of it what you put into it. Wise words, I'm sure you will agree. And mostly true. Except when it comes to my pets.

Over the years I have learned that while I like animals, pets are not the wonderful 'blood pressure lowering,' 'always giving,' 'lovable' creatures they're made out to be. I call it the pet owner conspiracy.

Case in point: My pets. We have 3 cats, several goldfish, and a dog. They are all a big stressor in my life. I have tried to get the benefits I'm supposed to get out of them, starting with petting the furry creatures (the fish don't seem to like this so I've given up on them). Seems like a win-win situation, doesn't it? I get to relax with the soothing motion and they get, well, petted. Except...every time I pet my cats, my allergies kick up. So I startle them with my sneezes and then I get claw marks all over my body as they briefly freak out. Then I have to get up and blow my nose, which ruins the whole relaxation effect, as well, because now I'm standing up and the cat has fled the scene. And every time I pet our one cat, Beanie (we used to call her Sabrina - but that's just too nice a name - now she's Needy Beanie), it just kicks in her neediness and she gets all clingy and the claws come out so she can cling even better and she goes nuts if you try to stop petting her. When I try to pet our lab, she ends up chewing on my hand.

And what about that joyful greeting when we get home that other pet owners have said is so great? Well, we definitely get that from our dog...in spades. But we don't want it. She jumps up on us, scratching our arms or backs with her toenails because we can't fight her off as our hands are full of groceries, then she sniffs our behinds and crotches as much as she can before we push her away (what is that with dogs, btw? other than the obvious...). And then there's the licking of any exposed skin. Gah!

My blood pressure is rising just thinking about it...

So what do I get out of my pets? Well, noise, for one. They meow or bark or gurgle throughout the day. They also leave me lovely messes around the house (except the fish, who I'm kind liking more and more as this blog goes on), from regurgitated matter to clumps of fur to backend deposits (especially the dog, who gets into dead things and gets sick and has to get outside fast in the middle of the night but doesn't wake anybody so it ends up on the floor). I get claw marks on my furniture and doorways and clothes. My kids have holes in their shirts from when Dorrie was a puppy. The carpets are permanently stained.

So maybe I do get out of my pets what I put into them. Because I put food into my pets, so what I get out of them is...

_ _ it. You fill in the blanks.

I want to be an animal lover. I really do. I want to sit with my cats and pet them and they purr peacefully. I want to be able to play frisbee with my dog without the danger of losing a finger when I try to get the frisbee back to throw it again. Yet my fantasies of pet enjoyment just don't ever seem to play out the way I think they're going to (I blame commercials and advertisements, oh, and other pet owners who love everything their pets do - kind of like my mom).

So what does all of this have to do with writing and being an author? Besides the fact that I can relate everything back to those two things... Well, you get out of writing and publishing what you put into it. Blood, sweat and tears. Um, yuck. Why am I doing this again? I guess because I'm an optimist at heart, and a masochist, I suppose. Maybe I like to suffer. Or maybe my pets are sadists and they want me to suffer.

What's that Dorrie? You just ate a dead bird? On purpose? After you dug another hole in the yard and peed on my carpet? And then puked up the bird?

Oh, dear Lord, I think my heart just exploded.

You Know You Have a Puppy When…

You'd think puppies wouldn't have anything to do with writing, but oh, they do. We got a puppy in October. She's now about 4 1/2 months old...a chocolate lab named Dorrie. We named her after Dorrie, the little witch, a beloved character in the books that I used to read when I was a kid, and from Anaedora, her first name. Her full title is Anaedora Deogee (DOG). How does she relate to writing? She is very good at keeping me from it. Since getting her, she has definitely made her mark on our family - in more ways than one.

So, to my list: You know you have a puppy when...

1) Your clothes have more holes in them than Swiss cheese.

2) Your white carpeting is now polka-dotted yellow and brown and your hardwood floor is covered with muddy footprints that look surprisingly wolf-like.

3) You find yourself yelling "Get down!" even though you're not breaking into dance, which is what you usually do.

4) You end up chasing her because she got away from you and ran into the road, and there sitting and watching you looking like an idiot as you try to catch your mad puppy, are the local police.

5) Your hands have tiny little scratches all over them and a few dents, as well, because she's teething and decides gnawing your hand helps alleviate the pain.

6) You have to warn your children about yellow snow and how it's not from someone spilling lemonade.

7) Your lawn is littered with potholes.

8) You have to shovel out a play area in the snow or come out with an umbrella in the rain, which she finds icky even though she's supposed to be a water dog, all so she won't pee on the porch.

9) You start referring to yourself as her mommy or daddy.

10) Your tupperware is now a play toy.

11) Taking your dog for a walk on the leash has become the new aerobics.

12) You are able to blame certain odors on her.

13) Your mother keeps feeding her treats even when you've asked her not to.

14) The reaction her little puppy stomach has to those treats is what causes those certain odors.

15) You actually let something lick your face.

16) Your mouse doesn't work because she chewed through the wire.

17) The tiny Christmas figures that populated your sweet, little Christmas village are all headless and the conductor has no arms.

18) You love her despite your vows to send her back to where she came from after she either poops under the piano yet again (because she knows it's raining outside) or gets dog slobber all over your underwear that you were going to change into after your shower, but she somehow managed to find on your medievally high bed.

Okay, I admit that I love my dog, though I'm not sure why. Pets are supposed to help lower your blood pressure, but I must be doing something wrong, because all mine do is raise it. If I'm not chasing after Dorrie and wrestling her to retrieve one of my kid's hats which she plucked off his head while he was sledding, I'm cleaning up hairballs or chasing cats away from sharpening their claws on the bedposts. Plus, I'm allergic to cats.

I'd write more, but I have to go stop my dog from tackling the children.

P.S. If you want to order my book, please be patient as we are currently experiencing a vendor problem that my publisher is feverishly trying to fix. You were going to order one, right? Of course, you were. I have to have some way to pay all my vet bills.