Life is so weird.
And in that weirdness comes a certain number of existential crises that happen, usually per year. My number feels a bit higher than the average.
A couple of days ago, while sick with a virus and plans for a dinner date the same evening, I sat in my living room looking at dogs online (one of my favorite pastimes). I found a Welsh Corgi, and my bored, tired of sitting around and being sick, fed up, corgi-loving butt decided that it would be a good idea to get off the couch and feverishly, dizzily drive an hour away to a town called Castle Rock to look at the biggest ears I have ever seen on a dog.
I listened to the Halsey album “Badlands” the entire way there and felt badass AF.
When I got to the rescue center, I was brought into a room to meet little Banjo, the Corgi with ears the size of my face. He was so cute and nice to me, a good reminder that I don’t currently need to resent all living creatures.
I also may have looked at a puppy or two when I was there. Little Nala and her stub tail had me lost in love. She got along with my current canine love, Louis, and I convinced myself that “Yes, I need to adopt her. Louis could really use a friend.”
And of course, my motherly instinct kicked in, and through my nurturing blinders, all logic went out the window. All I could see was this helpless little creature who needed love and care.
So I did adopt her. (Obviously, I cancelled my date, because puppies > boys. Duh).
She slept all cute, curled up in a tiny-dog bed in my passenger seat. Things were going well.
And then when we got home, sh*t hit the fan. I would say quite literally, but I don’t have a fan in my room. If I did, I’m sure there would have been sh*t on it.
I should have known really. Making these sorts of big, life decisions while in a tornado of an existential crisis is far from a good idea; even when they are well-intentioned.
Little Nala, too young to understand the concept of going to the bathroom on a floor even, thought that peeing in my bed was the best option. Twice.
The shy, quiet Nala at the shelter turned into a demon when she got home, using howls instead of horns and cuddles instead of fire to lure me in. Laying on me, kissing me, doing her absolute best to not make me feel like a f*ck up in life.
And that damn nubby tail…
It feels wrong to talk about a puppy and a night from hell in the same sentence, but sometimes, we have to accept that we are wrong.
I knew the next morning I had to bring her back. I wasn’t ready for a puppy. Louis was certainly not ready for a puppy to take over his window seat or his current sleeping arrangement.
If there is anything more depressing and traumatizing for a dog-lover than having to call a rescue league and tell them that you have to bring a puppy back because A. Your current dog wants to bite its head off and 2. “It just sunk in that my life is about to become a nightmare if I keep her,” please let me know.
I thought little Nala and I would have a smooth ride back to find her a new, suitable home, until she decided that pooping in the back seat of my car was a better idea; on top of my down jacket and all over the dog leash. That delayed our trip a bit when Lauren(that’s me) had to clean up dog sh*t from various surfaces, including my own body.
When we got to Castle Rock, The words “return” and “refund” were brought up a few times, and honestly, I could barely use them in a sentence when responding to the nice lady at the desk. You want me to “return” a dog? It was as confusing as the time I walked into the registrar’s office and dropped out of college.
This sweet lady saw the tears coming through my depressing eyes, and tried to comfort me with reassuring remarks and an opportunity to volunteer at the rescue league.
I handed little Nala off, walked away with my head down, and drove home contemplating how I would wash away my sins. But first, I had a lot of bedding to clean and a car to de-sanitize.
I learned a really big lesson. And it made me feel really horrible about myself. But the truth is a b*tch. And we all have to face it.
Nala has a new home now, which lessens the sting a little bit.
I’m also really glad to have excellent birth control, to avoid the possibility of a human baby entering my life anytime soon.
I heard you can’t put them in crates.