Chick Lit Cheerleader: Puppy love

We welcome our Chick Lit Cheerleader back today to bring us some Valentine's themed laughs. This time, she's involving her dogs and anything goes!

We'll let Jen take it from here...


To All the Dogs I’ve Loved Before

Welcome to February. The shortest month of the year that feels like it lasts an entire year, right? Nothing much happens in February. That is, unless, you love the Super Bowl, Punxsutawney Phil and chubby little cherubs haphazardly assaulting unsuspecting people with arrows. I love all three of those things, so this is the month for me! Love is in the air. Love to love you, baby. Muskrat love. Puppy love. You name it and I’m a sucker for it. Especially puppy love.

I can’t get enough of baby dogs. Tiny paws. Chunky bellies. Puppy breath. Saggy skin. They putter around and flop about like the after effects of a martini binger. Pee-pot fur balls of love with sharp baby teeth that leave a mark. What’s not to love?

Mike and I both grew up with dogs in our respective homes. For him, a Boxer, named Chuck, who promptly waited for Mike’s return to the bus stop Monday through Friday. I lived with a Lhasa Apso, named Jin Jin, who I tortured by dressing in baby clothes while my best friend fed her pads of butter. As soon as we purchased our first home, Mike and I wanted to fill it with the pitter patter of four little feet. Our agreed upon baby-buffer was an eight-month-old Golden Retriever. Although, I’m not sure Theo was much of a maternal intermediary. I was eight-weeks pregnant with our oldest when we brought him home.

Theo

Theo, definitely more red than golden in color, joined our home in December of 1995. He was instantly my boy. He’d bark up a storm any time Mike sat next to me on the couch or gave me a kiss. Thank God I was already pregnant when Theo came home because that definitely wasn’t going to happen on my dog’s watch. Theo lost his canine mind when Mike only held my hand. So, you get it. He was the jealous type.

A few months later, for Valentine’s Day, Mike bought me a beautiful pair of gold hoop earrings. Not quite doorknocker-sized. Not similar to elbow macaroni. Like Baby Bear’s porridge, my earrings were just right. Not only did I hormonally sob when I opened the gift box, I ugly cried. This gift was a financial stretch for us. New home. New baby coming. Tiny-dog nation invasion. These are not most budget-friendly circumstances. I was moved. This token meant so much.

The following day, I wore my new earrings to work. They didn’t leave my ears until I crashed on the couch that evening. Three months pregnant and plagued with night sickness, I pretty much became one with our sofa every evening. Mike worked Thursday nights, so it was just the baby, baby Theo, and me. Fighting the urge to lose my shortbread cookies, I took off the hoops and dropped them on the end table. My eyes fluttered as I tried to sleep. Theo was bounding about, prancing and leaping. “Theo, shhh…” I instructed. “Mommy need sleepy!” With eyes closed, I continued to hear him have a heyday. A glimmer caught my eye as he flung something shiny into the air then proudly pranced as he retrieved it. Good, he’s occupied, I thought. Where the heck did he get a piece of tinfoil from?

And then it hit me.

My earrings. My earrings!

That mutt shoplifted my gold hoops! Theo was flinging them into the air then chomping on them. “What did you do?” I demanded as he proudly cocked his head and panted. On the carpet laid my earrings, less than 24-hours old, flecked with countless baby teeth punctures. “You are a bad, bad dog!” I screamed. “I only wore these once! How could you do this?!” Theo barked as I snatched my earrings off the floor and sobbed. No mercy. No remorse. Just a puppy who was pissed I took his pretty shiny things away.

And that, my friends, was the first of many things my four-legged children have demolished over the years. All our dogs have, in some fashion, matched or trumped Theo’s Valentine’s Day jewelry massacre. Henry ate not one, but two bags of Halloween Reese’s peanut butter cups; foil and all. Jack, God rest his soul, loved to eat the eyeballs off Webkinz stuffed animals. None of these incidents were funny then, but totally knee-slapper stories now. No matter what they devoured, where they inappropriately pooped, or the science fair projects they destroyed I loved them all. And I never again left my jewelry on the end table. First time shame on you…you know the rest.

With Jack and Henry

Jen Tucker is the author of the funny and true stories, The Day I Wore My Panties Inside Out and The Day I Lost My Shaker of Salt. In September 2012, she had her children's book, Little Pumpkin published as an e-book. She also blogs monthly for Survival for Blondes. She currently lives in Indiana with her husband, three kids and two dogs. You can find her at Twitter, Facebook, her blog and on her website. And in case you missed them. check out her previous Chick Lit Cheerleader posts here.