Mary is our dog. She's a 5-year-old miniature schnauzer we've had since she was 10-weeks-old. Growing up, we always had a dog or two so I assumed I would enjoy having one as an adult. I really don't. Mary's a good little dog and she's not mistreated -- she has a nice life.
I've realized I'm not a dog person and I can say that without shame... now. We were told Mary would take a maximum of 2 weeks to housebreak. It actually took an extra 102 weeks. Two weeks plus 102 weeks = TWO years.
As I complained to Mom about Mary's constant accidents, Mom said, "Well, you're just not a dog person," with the same tone in her voice used to describe someone's unpleasant, personal challenge, like, "Well, you know she's had problems with alcohol...AND she smokes."
Because someone isn't a dog person doesn't mean they don't like animals. I actually love animals and am a responsible pet owner. I'm simply being honest when I say, I think I made a mistake. When life has me operating near the edge [more days than not], Mary throws-up or pees on the carpet and pushes me right over that edge.
Mary doesn't shed and is a clean breed, but the thought of where her paws have been outside as she trots in our house, bothers me. The fact that she's naked makes me twitch and quiver. I'd love for her to wear underwear or pants. [I imagine dog people don't have these thoughts.] I don't like knowing she goes to the bathroom, doesn't wipe [not even on the grass -- I've watched], then comes in the house and sits down like every thing's normal.
Having confessed [without shame] that I am not a dog person, and Mary is our little weak-moment-decision who we love and can't imagine life without, I'd like to ease any real dog person's mind who might be concerned about Mary's longevity in our home by sharing how we saved her life.
When Mary was a little over a year old [still not housebroken] she became ill. Turned out she had a blockage that required removal via surgery. She developed staph infection a few days later, ended up being transported to a fancier facility, had a few more surgeries and was hospitalized for almost two weeks. While she was in the animal hospital, Oldest Boy, Middle Boy and I visited her three times every day. NOT kidding. I cried each time, begged her to live -- the boys cried. It was sad. The doctors said it would take a miracle to save her.
We received our miracle. Eight. Thousand. Dollars. Later.
Chris says when Mary passes, he's making a hat out of her. He wants something to show for the time, tears, sweat and $$$ he's invested. Mary's longevity in our home is guaranteed.