Dead fish, birthday dogs, and steady husbands.

ImageHello Kitty the fish is dead. LONG LIVE HELLO KITTY. Because I did the old switcheroo yesterday while the Tyrant was at school. Listen, I know it’s important for kids to learn about death and everything. But if your kid’s Betta fish suffocates to death in a soup of its own feces so toxic that pieces of its fins had started disintegrating, you should spare your kid the facts of life for just a little bit longer.

This scenario may sound familiar to you, either because you yourself have been similarly negligent or because you read about it here a couple of years ago when Bluey died. Yes, yes, it’s a pattern. I am a serial Betta fish abuser. If it helps, I do sometimes feel bad about it.

In a more positive development, yesterday was Buddy the Wonder Dog’s VERY FIRST BIRTHDAY! To celebrate, he pooped out a sock.

Socks have become the bane of my existence. Buddy loves to chew everything, but he particularly loves socks. He knows he’s not supposed to chew socks, so if I see him chewing one, and he sees me seeing him, he starts gnawing double-time to swallow it before I can snatch it away. WHAT is UP with that?

This particular sock was swallowed last Wednesday. I know this because I witnessed it. The Diva had returned from school, ripped off her socks and flung them on the floor. “PICK UP YOUR SOCKS BEFORE THE DOG GETS THEM!” I screeched. So she went to her room, changed clothes, popped some popcorn, jumped on the couch, did a handstand against the wall, then meandered toward the socks, by which time there was only one to pick up.

So that sock has been sitting in Buddy’s belly for six entire days. How he managed to poop it out is a mystery, but I’m grateful because it saved me thousands of dollars in emergency surgery bills.

In other respects, Buddy is turning into a good little companion, and by companion, I mean: enormous brown furball who follows me everywhere. When I get out of bed to pee at 2 am, he’s right by my side. As I write, he sprawls on my feet. He stares at me a lot. He stays away from Hot  Firefighter Husband, who issues dog commands like someone’s flipping random flashcards in his face. BUDDY, STOP! NO! SIT! SIT! OKAY, NO! LIE DOWN! COME!

In closing, I guess should admit to myself that I’m falling in love with Buddy the Wonder Dog. This might not be great timing, as today is my 19th wedding anniversary, and instead of writing about how much I love Hot Firefighter Husband, I’m focusing on dead fish and dogs.

But Husband doesn’t eat socks, and he mostly cleans his own habitat so I don’t have to worry about switching him out for a fresh model, and in this way, he’ll always have an edge. Love him still.

5 responses to Dead fish, birthday dogs, and steady husbands.

  1. Terri says:

    Happy Anniversary!!!! Socks . . . who cares about socks?

    Husbands . . . mine, of almost 37 years is currently unpacking light kits for the 3 ceiling fans he just installed (so our children visiting this summer and my sister visiting this summer, won’t hear an annoying “clickitty klack, clickitty klack, clickitty klack” all the night long, like they’ve tolerated for the last “how many” years?)

    I’m giving him what he needs . . . the cheering as he models them for me and asks with baited breath, “The dome . . . okay?” He’s just turned on The Colbert Report and put dinner on, so how bad can husbands actually be?

    Long live husbands! Without them, we’d have to do ALL of it by ourselves. Oh, god! I owe him some sexual favors.

    • tricia says:

      Terri, I’d agree. Get busy, sister! ; ) Thanks for writing…you rock. xoxo

  2. Kelly DeSousa says:

    Preach on, sister! Enjoying your blog a great deal, and yes, agree 100% there should ALWAYS be time for reading!!

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