Doggone is a word that makes a lot of sense. It expresses frustration, disappointment, sadness, wistfulness, empathy. People say "doggone it" when a kid falls and scrapes a knee, or when someone can't find their keys, or when George Bush sends more troops to Iraq (sometimes, people say other words, which I will refrain from using because, for the most part, this is a "family" blog).
Ever since we had to put down our wonderful lab mix baby Ansel last summer, I've felt a great sense of emptiness...a great sense of all those aforementioned feelings that the word expresses. Indeed, the dog is gone. Doggone. Dammit.
I've been trying to look at the rational side of the situation...we don't have to spend money on vet bills and food and medicines and occasional boarding and all that. Although we do have some costs for our cat, which was my husband's compromise to me when I begged for another dog soon after Ansel's passing, she's not nearly as costly because she doesn't go outside and she can stay by herself for a couple days without poo'ing all over the carpet or being out-of-her-mind lonely. She's not a dog. Indeed, except for the fact that she walks on four legs and sometimes cuddles (when she feels the need) and breathes, she's not anything like a dog. Doggone it.
Every time I see a dog, I have to point it out. Ooh. Aah. Gush. Sigh. Talk inalil'itsybitsysweetiepiecuteesywootsie voice. And I believe my son has caught the affliction. "Dawdie...dawdie...dawdie..." he says again and again, squealing with delight every time he sees one. They bark. He giggles. They jump and run and roll around in the grass. He snorts with affection. They lick his face. His body wriggles with joy.
Doggone.
Patience is not one of my virtues. In fact, I think it might be a physical impossibility for me. Perhaps I need some training. Sit. Stay. Lie down. Roll over. WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. I think I might flunk peoplepatience school, in the same way Ansel dropped out of puppy class. Lack of patience, stubbornness, being overtaken by emotion...must run in our family. I always said Ansel was our first baby, and in that way, we had the same inherited characteristics.
So I've been keeping my eye, and my heart, out for a new canine. My want: a tricolor male corgi puppy. Those corgis I have known are so cute and cocky, feisty and friendly, and hilariously built with their long bodies and short legs and towering ears. Who couldn't love this guy? He had three brothers. My first favorite, "Sue's corgi number 4," was someone else's favorite too. Cause he was already snapped up.
Doggone.
Ever since we had to put down our wonderful lab mix baby Ansel last summer, I've felt a great sense of emptiness...a great sense of all those aforementioned feelings that the word expresses. Indeed, the dog is gone. Doggone. Dammit.
I've been trying to look at the rational side of the situation...we don't have to spend money on vet bills and food and medicines and occasional boarding and all that. Although we do have some costs for our cat, which was my husband's compromise to me when I begged for another dog soon after Ansel's passing, she's not nearly as costly because she doesn't go outside and she can stay by herself for a couple days without poo'ing all over the carpet or being out-of-her-mind lonely. She's not a dog. Indeed, except for the fact that she walks on four legs and sometimes cuddles (when she feels the need) and breathes, she's not anything like a dog. Doggone it.
Every time I see a dog, I have to point it out. Ooh. Aah. Gush. Sigh. Talk inalil'itsybitsysweetiepiecuteesywootsie voice. And I believe my son has caught the affliction. "Dawdie...dawdie...dawdie..." he says again and again, squealing with delight every time he sees one. They bark. He giggles. They jump and run and roll around in the grass. He snorts with affection. They lick his face. His body wriggles with joy.
Doggone.
Patience is not one of my virtues. In fact, I think it might be a physical impossibility for me. Perhaps I need some training. Sit. Stay. Lie down. Roll over. WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. I think I might flunk peoplepatience school, in the same way Ansel dropped out of puppy class. Lack of patience, stubbornness, being overtaken by emotion...must run in our family. I always said Ansel was our first baby, and in that way, we had the same inherited characteristics.
So I've been keeping my eye, and my heart, out for a new canine. My want: a tricolor male corgi puppy. Those corgis I have known are so cute and cocky, feisty and friendly, and hilariously built with their long bodies and short legs and towering ears. Who couldn't love this guy? He had three brothers. My first favorite, "Sue's corgi number 4," was someone else's favorite too. Cause he was already snapped up.
Doggone.
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