Because I’m an ass. I broke down and returned Baxter tonight. He was a very good dog with kids and I will miss him a bit. I kept expecting him to jump on me when I got home.


I will NOT miss having to put all the food away in the house on the counter top or in a cabinet or whatever. I will NOT miss having to worry about him tearing up the house or barfing or diarrheaing all over my carpet.

I know that makes me a mean person. But I don’t care. I thought I could be a person who loves dogs. Turns out, I love other people’s dogs (and not my own). It pains me to see that I am not this idealized version of myself. But I suppose it’s good to know your own limitations.

For the record, I didn’t mind taking Baxter out on walks, letting him out every few hours to pee, picking up his poop, or even brushing him, feeding him, etc. I minded the food-stealing and attention seeking. I couldn’t stand feeling guilty all the time because he looked so sad that I favored my own son more. I can not feel guilty in my own damn house because of a DOG.

So. I will never ever ever get a dog again. (Not to mention, any other living creature that is not spawned from my loins.) You all have my permission to mock me with these two (geez, I’m a slow learner) doggy returning incidences if I ever have the fool notion to get any type of living thing every again.