I’m going to be real, the rest of this article is really horrible and disgusting. You’ve been warned.
In 2002 I graduated from The Ohio State University with a degree in Fashion Merchandising. Sure, I probably had the lowest GPA walking across the stage but you know what? We’re all walking walking away with the same paper my friend so get off your stupid high horse.
My graduation gift from my boyfriend, now husband was a 3 lb., blonde, long hair Chihuahua whom I lovingly named ChiChi Barbados. I would walk her all the time, dress her up, sometimes in a bikini and would argue with the Target Manager on why I should be allowed to put her in a shopping cart. This was the Legally Blonde era with pink purses, especially designed for toy dogs and I was a devote followerer.
Fast forward 14 years later and I’m in my tweener’s room asking him to Google life span of a chihuahua. He chuckled.
“You wanna know?” He asked.
“Probably not,” I said while dabbing up yet another puddle of piss.
“10 to 18 years,” he said.
I did the math. “She’s 14 sooo, we are half way there at worse. I really think it’s time for her to meet her maker.”
I know that probably sounds horrible but she is killing me. It’s like she constantly finds ways to torture me. Even today, I come home to find not 1, not 2 but 3 turds in my hallway. So you don’t think I’m the devil, below is a list why ChiChi is killing me:
My Chihuahua uses our upstairs hall as her bathroom And when she can, she sneaks into my sons’ rooms like a skank at a nightclub and pisses. But I guess, or would hope, skanks at nightclubs don’t piss on the dance floor. Do they?
Last week she started shitting little dollops EVERYWHERE. Last time this happened there were 20 little shits all over our Berber carpet (which I will NEVER get for the rest of my life). In the end my sons found me crying like a broken woman, holding an empty can of Spot Shot whimpering, “I can’t do this anymore”.
Cow Patti– I was upstairs attempting to book my son’s birthday when I look down to see ChiChi walking out of our bedroom with a gigantic cow patti stuck to her ass.
“Holy shit,” I said in shock to the young girl on the other end of the phone.
“Oh God, sorry. My dog has a massive turd stuck to her butt. I’ll call you back.”
I followed her down to the kitchen. Like the space shuttle releasing it’s external tank, the patti had discharged and was now laying on the floor. At least I had mopped the floor earlier that day.
Humping– My dog could easily play the lead character of Orange Is The New Cat. She especially takes out all her frustrations on my sister’s dog- Gabby, a black, short hair chihuahua. When Gabby visits, she immediately cowards in the corner shaking, knowing Chichi will have her way with her. 5 minutes later, Chichi strolls in like a viking, ready to have her way with Gabby.
Hacking– Apparently little dogs are afflicted in their late years with a collapsed esophagus. According to the vet it doesn’t hurt her? This is super awesome because she walks around the house hacking like a disgusting old man. Her favorite time to hack? Dinnertime. Normally either my sons or I announce “delicious” after she has almost vomited on the floor, attempting to make a bad situation better.
Am I alone here? Does anyone else have a pet killing their spirit, threatening to outlive them? Maybe I’m just a big baby?