Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out to have kids of my own.
Sydney is just over 3 months old now. That’s heading into the terrible two stages in dog years. She is driving me insane.
Sydney is starting to look less like a guinea pig and more like a dog, so I started taking her out for long jog/walks early in the morning. One thing you must know about Sydney is that she experiences the world through her nose and mouth. That involves sniffing, licking and gobbling everything in sight. I at first worried that she might be relying on her other senses because she is partly blind, but no, she knows our route by heart now. She can see every bend in the road. She’s just a kid.
A typical morning with Sydney. Yesterday I woke up, put her on the leash and we headed out of the townhome complex we call home and out into the further reaches of the neigborhood. Along the way Sydney must dart out after every leaf that is caught by wind and *boing* she reaches the end of the leash pulling it taut and whipping her back. This happens 15 times before we leave the complex. Windy days leave my arm sore. So, when we hit the sidewalk of a somewhat busy residential street, I hold her close to me, so that a wandering leaf won’t end up with Sydney under a tire. Sydney understands that cars mean danger but all that goes out the window when there are things in the road to sniff.
Broken cereal bowl *boing.* Banana peel *boing.* Sydney loves to run, so when we hit the pavement running she is front of me, like some sort of miniature Alaskan sled dog, her ears pinned back galloping at full speed. Dog smell – I run forward, she heads back makes a circle, I turn around and *thowp* she has hogtied herself.
Finally making it to the park we walk around a bit. I see in the distance an older man and his Dalmation. The Dalmation is running and sniffing always watchful of his master. The Dalmation has no leash and comes when called, no matter what there is to sniff or lick. I look down at my kid, and turn red with embarassment. Sydney is like me, never pooping away from home, but this time she poops. I have no bag. She poops more than I think that Dalmation can then runs her leash through her deposit. I hope the other dog owner did not witness Sydney’s defecation of city property. Or the Dalmation for that matter, because he could probably relay the message to his master. I take Sydney back to the sidewalk that will lead us home.
On our last leg of the journey, Sydney spots a used tissue and immediately grabs it and starts to gobble it down. I yell, trying to bring her close to me using the leash, but she is running in circles. I finally grab her, pry open her jaw and get it out. She gives me not the look of “I’m sorry that was bad” but “Not fair! You are soooooo not fair!!” I can’t imagine what the neigbors think of me. Some kind of abusive pet owner or parent I imagine. “Sydney, stop it! Give it to me!! Stop!! Eeeewwww! No!!! Sydney! Get over here!”
When we get home, it’s time to clean the house. Can’t leave Sydney roaming about when I’m cleaning the floor, because she won’t let me. Into the crate. She watches as I grab the handheld vacuum, and sure enough as soon as I turn it on she howls. Loud howls as if someone is murdering her. I can’t stand the noise anymore, so I let her out and vacuum her, which is what she wanted. She starts to play with Dublin, the cat, then I hear *bleck.* She vomits all over the previously clean floor. I grab a paper towel before she eats two-thirds of it and see that it is mostly hair and fuzz. Obviously disgusted by the incident, Dublin heads to the corner and coughs up a nice gushy hairball. I was able to grab another paper towel before Sydney ate most of that, too.
Thus ends my typical morning. It was about 10am.