I have a four-year-old German Shorthaired Pointer named Zoey. She’s your typical bird dog, full of energy and quick as a whip. She’s also the reason I had to ask Home Depot if they have any carpet that can double as a racetrack. Zoey is the best running partner/pace setter I’ve ever had. Her and I have logged many miles together. We’ve logged an equal amount of time napping together on the couch. Andy and I affectionately refer to her as “the Velcro dog” because of her incessant need to be touching one of us. We love this girl and she loves us. Life is good for Zoey.
Zoey isn’t big on toys (outside of a deflated football she’s lovingly carried around the yard for years), but she does have a preference for her stuffed gator. Andy found this thing on clearance at Target one day and she’s treated it like a baby ever since. Then one day the gator mysteriously disappeared. In all honesty, Andy and I kind of blamed Caroline. She’d been fighting Zoey for it for months, claiming it as her own. We figured she stashed it somewhere, never to be found.
Fast-forward to Christmas 2016. I’m on a last-minute Target run and I spot a new gator out of the corner of my eye. It wasn’t on clearance anymore, of course, and now it was $17. A sucker for the holidays, I threw it in the cart as Zoey’s Christmas present. Of course she attacked my shopping bags when I returned home and forced me to give to her early. Many joyous laps with gator #2 ensued and gator #1 was all but forgotten.
Fast-forward again to two nights ago. A long weekend had left all of us dragging through an unbearable Tuesday. We were tired, out of our routine and long hours of solo parenting meant that I was ready to check out the minute Caroline went to bed. I put her to sleep and immediately went to work making myself a milkshake. Yes, this is a stereotypical pregnant lady snack, but no, this is not out of the norm for me, regardless of my reproductive state.
I took my milkshake to my bed (STOP JUDGING) so I could watch one non-animated show before I conked out. But of course, I could not find the remote for the TV. Someone, who shall remain nameless, was watching Fwozen in there just an hour earlier.I became frantic. This mom just wanted a break, people. I was overcome with the fear that my beloved milkshake would melt before I could enjoy it (also if you haven’t noticed, I’m the bomb.com at being irrational). I am also the worst at looking for things, so I called for Andy’s help. We tore apart the entire bedroom, which included Andy searching in the opening under our dresser. When I heard him start laughing I could feel my irrational anger start to rise. “That better be the funniest damn remote you’ve ever seen,” I said. He responded by holding up a dusty gator #1 like a cast member of Swamp People who just bagged the ultimate trophy. I was about ready to choot ’em.
Zoey quickly inserted herself in the commotion and was pleased to see that her long-lost buddy had survived a sabbatical under the dresser. The remote was located shortly after, buried in a basket of laundry, and the Velcro dog was happy as a clam, curled up in the spot in which I had planned to eat my milkshake—accompanied by two gators.