Rufus

Rufus, impersonating a kid in a dog suit

I miss writing here, but whenever I think about doing it, I have nothing but these kinds of possible topics on my mind:

Grumble, Grumble

Poor Me

I Never Thought THIS Would Be Happening To Me

Why Can't Things Just Be Calm and Fun and Happy?

I'm So Tired

What is Wrong With the World?

Why Can't This Dog Stop Peeing?

So, I decide not to bother writing anything, because who wants to read the ramblings of a grouchy, middle-aged woman (who has finally recently decided that she might as well admit (not embrace) that she is middle aged, assuming that she's going to live to age 110.)

Another possible topic:

Aging. Ugh.

I have been seeing a therapist. She's more of a life management skills coach than a "let me help you gaze into your navel so you can figure out all the things your parents did wrong to screw you up" kind of therapist.   My life has seemed difficult to manage lately, although only a very few people know that.  I put on a happy face and pretend everything's just fine most of the time.  That's sometimes the hardest part- the pretending. But it's necessary, because I hate feeling like people are looking at me and feeling grateful that they don't have my life. 

Anyway, back to my shrink. She calls what I have "Situational Depression"- she talks to me about what's been going on in my life during the past week and helps me come up with ways to not feel like I'm suffocating. Last time I saw her I talked to her at great length about my dog.  The one who can't stop peeing.  I got him a couple of months ago- he was supposed to be a replacement for my Yorkie who had gotten hit by a car. Nina couldn't stop crying about the dead dog, so I thought a perfect way to help her move on was to get another little terrier to love.  

I found Rufus on an animal rescue website. He was found shivering, curled up in a ball, abandoned on the side of the road by an angelic animal rescuer named Angel. (I'm not kidding- that was her real name.) He was a terrier mix, about the same size as my last little dog, and when I called Angel she gave him rave reviews: good with kids, cats, dogs, obedience trained, house trained. "A real good, real smart boy."  So, I took the plunge. I paid the $500 fee with fear and trepidation and adopted a dog from Tennessee, sight unseen.  

I drove to a shelter an hour and a half from my house to get him after he had spent the weekend on a "transport"- a van full of other poor doggies being shipped up from the south to be adopted by other northern suckers like me.  He was kind of mangy and inbred looking, but had a sweet little face that melted my heart. He loved nothing more than snuggling with me like a baby on the couch at night.  He was adorable- after the 2 week trial period I gave my final "yes!" I could never give him up! He was perfect! They could keep my $500!

Then the peeing started.  He looked at me one day and calmly lifted his leg and peed on the Barbie Dream Castle.  And on the kitchen cabinets. And on the coffee table.  And on anything I left on the floor.  And on any vertical surface.  And on me. And on my other dog.  

I took him to the vet.  She said he was healthy- it wasn't a medical issue.  He probably was suffering from anxiety and could possibly benefit from prozac, but that this was probably a habit that he had had for his entire life, and at age one, it would be a very hard one to break.  

I started to smell Rufus pee everywhere.  He had to wear a diaper in the house which he quickly learned to rip off.  Real smart, all right.  I was cleaning up pee everywhere, all the time.  I was mopping floors, scrubbing rugs, washing doggie diapers, taking them off so he wouldn't wet them when he went out, putting them back on when he came back in, except when I would forget and find another puddle on the floor.  

I didn't want to fail- I didn't want to have to send him away.  He loves our house, and he loves us.  But, going back to the above list of possible blog topics, the peeing dog is the only thing I can change.  When my shrink pointed this out to me and said he had to go,  I suddenly had a vision of a life where I would not have to clean up his pee, ever again. The thought was liberating.  I could have control over something in my life!  Just typing that made me feel a little euphoric.  

I'll cry when he leaves, because I'm a wimp when it comes to animals, but then I'll be just fine.  And my house will smell good again, at least until I get a Havanese puppy.