It is official: I am a dog owner. What started as foster dog has now turned into a dog that has my phone number on her collar. I am thrilled and gushing and broke as hell. At this point in life I am barely able to afford my own vet bills and 15.5-pound bags of food. But those who can’t do, teach, right?
I love Rhubarb. She and I have all the same hobbies: sleeping all the day yet still able to sleep all night, peeing while looking someone in the eyes, getting excited to meet new people only to lose interest immediately, and being photographed incessantly.
I want to give my dog the best life possible. I want to give her all the things I never had — or, rather, shouldn’t have. She will always get to have bowls of her food on the floor and no one will ever judge her for that. All she has to do is silently urinate on something to show the world it belongs to her. When she sees another dog she likes the look of, she gets to express herself physically and vocally. And though I do a great impression of this, I don’t think I should start using it as a form of human communication.
She is the Chrissy Teigen to my John Legend, in that I don’t believe their relationship is sexual; it just looks cute in pictures. But I don’t want my love for the dog to go too far. We all have seen the ugly side of pet owners in reality shows such as Hoarders, the few shows on Animal Planet still about animals, and that one British Real Housewife who has her own spinoff show now.
These are my ground rules to ensure I don’t end up on a new A&E show that follows people who get plastic surgery to look more like their dogs:
1. I promise to never refer to my dog as my “fur baby.” Nor will I ever consider myself her mother. It makes me feel gross, like I gave birth to her, and right now I don’t even feel cool about giving birth to a human being, let alone a fur baby. I will however continue to refer to my own mother as her grandmother, because it gives my mom the maternal fix she needs and buys my womb some time.
2. She will never go hungry; she will always have a safe, warm home; and she will only be used as a flirtation device in times of need (i.e. weekends and holidays that encourage day drinking). Basically, if I am drowning in a sea of singleness I will holler at her cute butt to rescue me. She has far better people skills than I do.
3. I will allow her to lick my face. I know people get grossed out by this but take a second to think about all of the things that have been on your face in your lifetime. Some were grosser than a dog’s mouth, weren’t they? Plus, I feel like I can tell when she gets too into it and it stops being consensual.
4. She may eat people food only under the following circumstances:
– It was an accident (that cup of ranch I left on my nightstand)
– She looks real cute (those pieces of orange that she kept spitting out then eating again)
– No one is looking (we both had Chipotle for lunch today at home)
5. I am honestly going to attempt to only post pics of her on social media twice a week, unless she becomes an Instagram celebrity, in which case she will get her own account and we will donate 20 percent of the profits from her calendar sales to a cause close to her heart, such as eating cat vomit or being really still around squirrels.
I am sure I will break all of these rules in a matter of days and end up commissioning several oil paintings of Rhubarb to decorate my room, which is soon to be hers.
