My son, Zach, has a little dog named Gomez. Gomez weighs about the same as a bag of sugar. He is so unfortunate looking that he makes the turn from homely to adorable. Gomez is part toy poodle, part shih tzu, and part Raggedy Andy doll.
I love this little guy.
Holding him makes the tightness in my chest go away. I’m not a pet person, though. Pets really haven’t had much presence in my life.
We didn’t have pets growing up.
Well, we had some pets, but they were never around long and it was usually not a good relationship.
My first dog, for instance. My aunt, one of the most unpleasant people in the history of all the people who ever were and all the people who ever will be, got us a dog when I was 10.
We named him Sugar. I’m not sure what Sugar was, but if I had to guess, I would say he was a mix of chihuahua, terrier, and Spicoli from Fast Times At Ridgemont High.
Me: Hey, baby…how do you spell chihuahua?
Randy: C H I H U A H U A
Me: Thanks. I had “Chai tea waffles”
Me: How do you spell terrier?
Randy: T E R R I E R
Me: Okay, so not tarot cards, then.
Me: How do you spell Spicoli? Like from Fast Times At Ridgemont High?
Randy: S P I C O L I
Me: Okay. Not spaghetti man.
But I digress.
Sugar could only be described as “special needs”.
This was the dumbest dog ever to live.
We lived in a drafty house in Covington, Kentucky. The Cincinnati skyline loomed over my childhood. The downstairs had three rooms. Kitchen in the back, living room in the middle, and behind pocket doors, our play room.
Sugar, the asthmahound chihuahua of my youth, spent his time running the length of our house. He would run, his little toenails clicking, and crash into the kitchen wall. He would shake it off, and then run the opposite direction and do the same thing to the wall in the front of the house.
I fucking loved Ren and Stimpy. Ren and Stimpy cracked me up. And if you are scratching your head at this, you’re probably also wondering what the fuck an asthmahound chihuahua is.
Sugar drove my mother batshit. Seriously, I think the sight of that dog made her want to curl up in a corner and cry.
One day Sugar “ran away”.
I drew pictures and hung up fliers, but I never saw him again. Much to my mother’s relief.
We moved to the middle of nowhere my freshman year of high school. Seriously, moving to Dry Ridge, KY was one of the worst experiences of my life. My apologies to anyone I went to high school with who reads my blog, I truly mean no disrespect. I just really really really hated it there.
Anyway, we got a border collie. We named him Charlie and he was a sweetie. But he kept trying to herd the cows in the field behind our house and the farmer started shooting at him, so Charlie had to go.
That was pretty much it. I mean, other than the gerbils. I shudder to think of the gerbils. Fucking hell.
I did have a few cats around 20 years ago. They were sweet. I had a psychic experience with one of them. That story might be too weird, though. So just forget I said anything.
Randy and I have never had a pet. Although we did have a goldfish named Mr. Pink who lived around 3 years. I guess that counts. Not a cuddly pet. He did wag his tail like a dog when you waved his food bottle over the bowl. Not even kidding about that. I didn’t grieve over Mr Pink’s death, though. I mean, my shoulder’s slumped and I wasn’t happy, but nary a tear was shed when he was flushed.
I don’t dislike pets. I think animals are awesome. I’ve just never considered myself a pet person.
Now my son has this little dog. I love his face. He has such a face.
Perhaps it’s late in life, but I think I’m going to want something to cuddle pretty soon.
Now, you guys help me figure out how to talk Randy into it. I’ve been campaigning for over a year for a kitten and its a “no go” so far. I might have more luck talking him into a dog. I’m sure we could find a rescue that is at least part Raggedy Andy doll.