When Sarah was 2, Bob and the boys convinced me that we needed a puppy. We lived in Utah at the time and had this great big backyard. We researched online and found a local breeder for Beagle puppies. One night while I was scrapbooking, Bob took the kids to the breeder and they all fell in love with these adorable 6 week old Beagle puppies. If you never seen a beagle puppy, they are irristible! The all came home with stories of how this one little puppy (soon to be Daisy) was chasing after Sarah and tugging on her little dress. So, of course, I (stupidly) replied "Go get me that baby puppy!" I honestly think I was wanting another baby or something.
(Random baby beagle puppy, not Daisy)
So, now I had to potty train Sarah (which was a task in and of itself) and the puppy!
Skip ahead several years, we've moved to Washington, bought a travel trailer, taken Daisy camping -- she's quite acclimated to the family now. Sophie, the killer cat, tolerates her. The kids love her. Daisy loves everyone (including everyone's food). We now have this fat (overweight), sweet as can be, beagle dog. Yes, puppies (like children) grow up.
I grew out of my puppy love for Daisy, but she and I have this "understanding". I'll be nice to you....if you don't pee on the carpet, get in the trash, and chew up my underwear. sigh....
Anyway, somehow (since I'm the mommy, I guess) I have taken on the responsibility to taking Daisy to the vet for check ups, grooming and boarding appointments. Usually I don't mind. But I draw the line at actually medicating the dog. I'm just not that good of a pet owner! I'm a bad pet mommy!
Today, of course, I had to take Daisy in for an appointment for excessive scratching. I just KNEW it would be cream and pills for the next upteen weeks. Well.....yes.....that's what happened. Not only do I have to apply this nasty yellow cream to her tummy twice a day, but I also have to give her these antibiotic capsules twice a day! And, here's the kicker, she has to wear one of Sarah's old t-shirts so that it covers the affected area so that she won't lick the ointment off! Seriously? This is extreme!
But, because I'm the mommy, I wrestled her to the ground this afternoon (47 pounds of resistance, mind you) and slathered on the cream, forced her into this ridiculous t-shirt, and fed her the medicine (I found these treat capsules at the vet that may have been a Godsend! You put the pill inside the treat and she just eats it! Miracle!)
She looked at me with those sad puppy dog beagle eyes. And I looked back and her and said "Mommy knows honey." Maybe I am a good pet mommy.