“Look! There’s a Great Dane!”
“What?”
“The humane society. They just got a Great Dane mix! His name is Hershel! Oh he is SOOO cute! Wanna check him out???”
“Yes please.”
The conversation that changed our lives.
We stumbled into the humane society, ignorantly blissful as we awaited the presence of the world’s most photogenic Great Dane mutt. He pranced into the waiting room we were sitting in and jumped on my lap. It hurt….he was huge….but how sweet! He held onto me in a canine embrace for almost twenty minutes. Wow….WHAT A BLESSING FROM THE LORD THIS MUST BE….he was beginning hospice therapy dog training…..I’m a hospice nurse….he’s house trained…..hooray for that…..he’s a Great Dane mix…..we wanted ANOTHER Great Dane mix….he’s wonderful with children and other dogs….we wanted a playmate for Tank! This must be God! This must be Jesus! He has led us here! He has given us this gift!
“WE’LL TAKE HIM.”
The single solitary action that changed our lives.
Hershel collided with our home life like a mad hurricane with a vengeance. We thought he was about to turn three. The vet told us in fact HE HAD JUST TURNED ONE AND WAS ALREADY SEVENTY POUNDS. “He’s going to get bigger!” Yay! Also, Hershel likes to jump fences. Any fences! Even fences you thought he couldn’t hurdle over! He also likes to tear things apart! Rugs! Shoes! Toys! Clothing! Door mats! And guess what??? He’s not house trained! Hershel seemed to have an underdeveloped, overexcited, highly anxious, miniature bladder that lets out small liquid explosions during times of stress, duress, happiness, when a walk was mentioned, when a walk was NOT mentioned, while he was eating, while he was sleeping, while we were eating, while WE were sleeping and anytime in between! He also is unable to urinate outside without the help of one of my plants being underneath him! We now have beautiful yellowish-brown shrubbery in our front yard! In two weeks I had 54 pounds of dog poop to pooper scoop! 54 pounds! Did I mention Hershel has gas that made me wish I was born in Chernobyl??? DID I? I should! Because he does!
Hershel loves to cuddle. What he also loves is to springboard off the person he’s cuddling if he’s done! My abdomen and thighs look like I’m part of Fight Club!
Did I mention he’s crate trained? And by that I mean he wales like an Irish siren when he’s cooped in his cage, until he figures out how to use his tongue to unhinge the cage and let himself out! What a blessing! This must be God! This must be Jesus! He has led us here! He has given us this gift!
The biggest problem with Hershel is he is the most adorable creature I have ever laid eyes upon secondary to my husband and also to Tank, our dear furry, white best friend who now shines as the greatest, most behaved dog this side of the Mississippi, and is now spoiled because of it. Hershel however is gentle, plays well with Tank, he’s now a part of the family.
I have said every night to Jeremey, “It’s time to Old Yeller him or sell him for parts.”
Jeremey has been patient and loving with Hershel. “He’s just a puppy, we’ll take him to training, he’s going to be ok, we just have to be patient.”
His kindness frustrated, nay MADE ME VEHEMENTLY INFURIATED at the fact that my husband continued to show compassion as the Devil’s advocate…UNTIL that glorious moment whilst I was having an emotional breakdown from him urinating on my favorite comforter that it happened.
He did it.
He crossed that line.
He overstepped his boundaries.
He peed in Jeremey’s peanut butter milkshake from Sonic.
Even with my prodding, Jeremey wouldn’t finish the milkshake.
HE HAD TO THROW IT AWAY.
YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO JUST THROW SONIC MILKSHAKES AWAY.
IT IS ILLEGAL IN THREE OUT OF FIFTY STATES.
Jeremey cracked at that moment. The color drained from his face. His vision blurred, his blood pressure rose, his heart rate dropped. Hatred stirred in his eyes.
“We’re going to take him back.”
I replied with,
“I CANNOT HEAR WHAT YOU ARE SAYING. I’M SHOWERING WITH MY CLOTHES ON BECAUSE HE PEED ON MY YOGA PANTS.”
We still have him.
Hershel’s still here.
He’s actually in his kennel right now, because he just ate an Xbox One controller.
Hershel had been giving me a rough time for awhile, Jeremey knew that, but it was only when it became personal that Jeremey saw the problem and dealt with it, waiting until the problem (aka the adorable mutt) had spilled over into his realm, into his life, that he wanted to deal with it.
Sin is kind of the same way. We let it happen all around us, we bask in its environment, we thrive in its atmosphere, but we only wait until it’s infiltrated in our personal lives that we decide we need to get rid of it.
By that time, it’s become a part of your family.
It’s a lot harder to get rid of.
Yeah, I did it. I equated my dog to sin. Idolatry. Gluttony. Lust.
Maybe we should have named him Seven.
Anyway, think about it kids. Nip that junk in the butt before it takes over.
We’re gonna keep him. Calm the heck down.
Let’s take a moment of silence for the things that have lost their lives under the grasp of the urinating beast: (Starting with most recent)
-The $60 Xbox One Controller
-My welcome mat
-My guest room comforter
-Jeremey’s Milkshake that didn’t bring all the boys, just a bladder-ridden dog, to the yard
-That pair of shoes
-That other pair of shoes
-The pair of shoes that were remotely close to that other pair of shoes
-Those slippers
-That dog bowl
-Anything we’ve ever loved
Peace out, my friends.
