Oh, Joy!

 I think Joy is trying to kill me.

She will either slowly drive me crazy, or she will murder me on a walk one day when she goes after the wrong dog.

I was walking the gang one day and this dog was just hanging out in his front yard, minding his own business. Two ladies were there with him. It's not like the dog isn't allowed to be in his front yard. Everything would have been fine had he not decided to trot down to the sidewalk for a sniff.

Instant meltdown.

Joy pulled the leash out of my hand, chased the dog into the street, and knocked me down in the process, causing a tangle of the leashes attached to Kira, Colleen, and Murphy. One lady asked if Joy was going to kill her dog. No, they were just playing in the street. The other lady asked me if I was all right as I must have been a sight sprawled out on the ground with dogs all over me.

Yes, fine. Excuse me, I am now going to go home and murder my dog.

Joy is extremely dog reactive. Once she's allowed to sniff the dog and play with it, she's fine. But until then she looks like she's ready to kill something, and I guess I'm the closest target. She's not aggressive at all, she just freaks out.

Another time I took Joy out on the bike. She's usually pretty good. It's easiest to exercise Joy and Kira separately. Kira is great and just runs alongside the bike until she's worn out. Joy is, well, Joy. Lately she's taken to chasing rabbits, and since she's so dog reactive I get a little nervous. If she's following the bike she's usually okay.

Until one day.

There we were, flying down the walking path a block from my house. The wind in my hair, pedaling away, no cares in this world. There is nothing more freeing than riding a bike (well, maybe a horse, but I'm terrified of horseback riding). I can't believe it took me so long to learn. I kept thinking how I wish I'd learned sooner because Tess loved to chase the bike and she would have loved it more when she was younger, but hey, now I have Joy and she's benefiting so much!

And then Joy just...stopped. That dog can stop on a dime, like a rodeo horse. She stopped, squatted, and the bike and I just kept going. My bike jerked to the right and I went ass over teakettle right into the embankment next to the river. I'm lucky I didn't go INTO the river. It was pretty high at the time. It had done nothing but rain for over a month and the river was moving fast. I had visions of me and my bike being swept downstream while Joy looked on, taking her dump. Probably waving a paw. Maybe even flipping me off with her tail, like, "Ha ha, now I'm loose, and I don't have to be attached to you with this stupid leash anymore, loser."

It would have been fine had I just tumbled in the grass, but my knee hit the walking path and I managed to brace myself with my hands in the grass.

The resulting bruise on my right knee was beautiful. It took over two weeks to heal, and every day it turned a different lovely shade of blue or purple, surrounded by a red patch and decorated with several scrapes. My shoulder caught a scrape too, and I had a bruise on my left ankle from where the bike pedal hit, and another one on my left calf, plus scrapes on my hands.

My right knee still hurts when I kneel down to play with Murphy, or when I kneel to get into bed.

I'm lucky I didn't hit my head, because yes, like an idiot, I didn't wear my helmet. I didn't think I needed it. We weren't going very fast, Joy usally just trots along beside me, and I know how to fall. I fall a lot from just being clumsy. I fell down the stairs once when Murphy tripped me. Another time I lost my balance on the stairs and slammed my left arm into the wall to protect Colleen, who I was holding at the time. She was fine. I had another bruise on my arm that bloomed colors about the same time my knee was starting to heal.

Maybe all of my dogs are trying to kill me and not just Joy.

Joy likes to scare the ever living wahoo out of me by randomly barking when it's all dark and quiet and I'm ready to fall asleep. Suddenly "Woof woof woof!" and all four dogs go barreling downstairs to slide into the front door where there is literally no one. And Kira has one of those barks that sounds like she's going to tear someone or something limb from limb. It's the pit bull in her. She doesn't bark often, but when she does she scares me and I live with her.

Joy hates the pit bulls next door, so when they are outside she whines and groans and barks and makes cow noises in protest of their existence until I've been driven completely bananas. I've called her a cow out in the clover before because she just about moos. That's a joke because of my mother. There's a Swiss expression that essentially means "cow out in the clover," but it sounds better in German, and I think its an insult.

So I yell at Joy when she moos like a cow out in the clover, and then she paws at me with a front paw almost like she's taking a punch. Like, "Shut up, human I'm going to protect you from these dogs."

Thanks. If I actually tossed her over the fence, the AmStaff from next door would probably just eat her. Joy is a sixty-pound German shepherd with an omega complex. There is no way she'd win that fight.

Sometimes I wonder if Joy was hired by someone (my ex maybe) to take me out. It's a miracle I'm still alive with this beast in my life. It doesn't help that she looks extremely wolfish with her black markings and large ears. She's beautiful, but if you didn't know what a weenie she is, you'd be terrified of her coming at you. 

Well, okay, the dopey look on her face isn't very terrifying either.

All that just adds to the deception I think. "Well, detective what do you think killed her?" "Oh, definitely this crazy looking house wolf."

"I think it was the cat." (Looking at you, Puckett).

Maybe national security should hire Joy to go in on our enemies. She can murder someone and make it look like an accident.

She really should work in search and rescue or drug sniffing as she has quite the nose. I can't help but wonder if we were up the mountains searching for lost bodies if she wouldn't just casually push me off a ledge too, and trot off to find some wolf pack to join.

I really wouldn't put it past her.

Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

The Proverbial Houseful of Cats

 There is nothing I hate more than certain men telling women of a certain age that she is doomed to die alone with her houseful cats whenever she has the nerve to have any kind of standards for men she'd like to date. Especially when she has just politely declined a date with such a man.

First of all, women of a certain age are not doomed to die alone just because she isn't so desperate as to accept any male scraps thrown her way.

And second of all, why is the ultimate punishment to die alone in a houseful of cats? That actually sounds like heaven to a lot of women, including the ones who are already attached to a man. I mean, it would suck for the cats, so make sure there is a will in place for their care.

When I'm told, "Enjoy your houseful of cats," I say "Yes, please! And dogs and rabbits and maybe a miniature donkey! Possibly a pot-bellied pig."

In other words, bring on the houseful of animals. 

It just cracks me up that there are people out there who think being with a man, any man, is preferable to being with a lot of animals, because I am here to tell you my last three relationships do not compare to the houseful of pets I now live with. They might be messy, but they are much easier to live with. They've never shot a hole in my wall. 

Or called me a slut and a bitch.

Yes, I am a woman of a certain age. I am also a woman of a certain age with the worst possible taste in men and no current prospects on the horizon because I don't trust my own judgment anymore. Except when it comes to the critters.

I love critters of all shapes and sizes. I save the jumping spiders hanging out in my house by putting them in the garden so the cats won't get them. I will also save any moths who happen to escape the wrath of Spencer by also moving them outside after sucking them up with the vacuum cleaner. I love bunnies and birds and horses and pigs. I even like the pissy town deer that hang out in people's yards every morning and give me shitty looks should I dare to walk by them too closely.

So I get resentful when I'm expected to swoon at the attention of any man just because he was willing to overlook my age and give me a chance. Yes, I realize I'm an old relic, but even the old relics have standards, and more so after an abusive relationship.

Believe me, after living with an abusive man, living with nothing but animals is NOT a punishment.

Pickings are slim anyway. Since I broke up with the ex I had one date with a guy who ended up being under thirty (in my defense I thought he was at least 32, and in his defense he may have thought I was 35), and I was possibly propositioned for a threesome with a couple.

I guess I should have jumped all over both of those, but the twentysomething ghosted me after I refused to sleep with him, and the threesome just isn't my thing, I don't care how hot the guy was. I haven't been intimate with anyone in over a year, so when or if I ever decide to have sex again it sure won't be a one-night stand with some guy who will never call again, and it won't be with another woman present who is more important than me in the relationship. I don't have a problem with swingers or people in the polyamorous lifestyle, it just isn't for me.

But thank you very much for asking.

These are just a couple of examples of the scraps thrown at women my age that we are supposed to be eternally grateful for. I have a degree, a successful career, own two properties, and have a bank account, and that is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people have, but I am lacking because there is no man attached to me. I am doomed to die alone and miserable in my house full of cats because I missed the boat and had the nerve to turn forty without ever getting married. I had opportunities, but I squandered them and now I have to just accept whatever comes my way because no man of quality will want my aging tuckus.

How dare my old ass have standards. I'm single and forty. I don't deserve them.

Society really needs to get away from this philosophy that a woman's worth is tied up in her youth because really, we all age, we all get old, and even men will find themselves on the wrong side of the nursing home door one day. Age is not a dreadful horrible thing that happens to you and you might as well give up your vitality and life in favor of the knitting needles, a rocking chair, and a houseful of cats as soon as you hit forty. Though none of that sounds hortible. Sure the skin gets a bit wrinkled, and the love handles start to show, the hair starts to thread with grey, and maybe the bones creak a bit more than they used to. But here's the thing about age. I wouldn't go back to my twenties if you paid me. Go through all that again? Phew. I have more now than I ever had when I was younger. I actually own property. I have amazing lifelong friends that I've known for thirty years. No twenty year old can say that. I have experience and wisdom. Maybe not in dating, but the wisdom is there. Somewhere. I finally got my Papillons I always wanted. I could never have afforded them in my twenties and without property wouldn't have been able to have them. I still have a German shepherd. With the degree I studied for I make enough money to live alone so I can essentially do whatever I want in my own home, and I don't have to ask someone's permission when I want to get another animal.

Or buy an entire new wardrobe which I had to do when I gained twenty pounds and none of my "thirty" clothes fit me anymore.

I can buy a case of high quality wine without hearing "How much did that cost?" 

I can feed my pets the highest quality diet I can afford without hearing about what a waste of money it is "just for a bunch of animals." (I had an ex who got irritated with how much money I spent on food for Tess, as if that was any of his business).

I can paint my walls a lovely shade of light green, and plant all the petunias I want without having to listen to opinions on why petunias suck and are boring (well except from my dad, but he doesn't have to look at them so whatever, Dad).

I can eat cake for breakfast, and this is probably one of my favorite things. Probably also the reason I gained twenty pounds and needed a whole new wardrobe.

Since I am no longer looking to impress the opposite sex because hey, I'm old and worthless to them anyway, I can behave however I want. The older you get the more you get to speak your mind without caring what others think. You have wisdom that you didn't have in your twenties. You aren't looking to impress people or worry about what they think of you because you realize it just doesn't matter. If they like you, great. If they don't, they probably never will so who cares what they think? It's exhausting trying to get people to like you anyway, and it's even more exhausting trying to be the perfect girl for a man who will never be satisfied. I'm not speaking generally of men here. I'm speaking specifically of the ones I dated who always tried to change me and then got pissed off when I wasn't the dream girl they envisioned.

Most men are lovely. Most men are wonderful people who want the best for the women in their lives. These men are essential.

But I am not going to get a boyfriend just because my time is running out and my destiny is to die old and alone with a houseful of cats.

It will probably be a houseful of Papillons anyway. Because I can get another Papillon if I want and there is no one to stop me.

 I won't. Four dogs are plenty..

But I can.

 And yes, I can buy dresses for my dog!

The cat sleeps on the bed.

Hypocrisy

 I'm the biggest hypocrite in the world.

I remember when I used to be all "Dogs will NEVER be allowed on the bed!" I mean, dogs are big and hairy and have dirty feet because they go outside.

 Not that cats are any cleaner. They dig around in litter boxes, and they always track litter onto my bed. Really only Willow and Puckett get up on the bed, and Willow usually only stays for a bit before going to sleep in her basket. Spencer will come up for a snuggle and then also disappear.

I used to get pissy with the ex-fiance (not to be confused with the most recent ex, though they are about the same jerk), because he'd let his equally annoying dog up on the bed, and I was always like, no dogs on the bed!

I hated that dog anyway. There was something off about her.

Of course, there was something off about him too.

Thank goodness I didn't marry him.

Also because he said if the dogs aren't allowed on the bed, neither are the cats, and also because he said when his dog and Tess were gone, we were only going to have one dog, and we would definitely not have any more cats because he didn't really like cats.

Yeah, right, buddy, good luck enforcing that one.

But I digress.

Remember when dogs weren't allowed on the bed? And they weren't allowed to eat people food, and I didn't believe in giving them food from plates because they would learn to beg and so on and so forth?

Oh yeah, that all went out the window.

Suddenly my bed at night looks like that meme on the Internet:

         Credit Kelly Angel @anythingcomic

I mean, I don't have a snail or a dung beetle, but that's about how we look at night. A cat on one side, a cat on the other. Colleen tucked under my arm. Murphy stretched across the body pillow along the wall. I actually would invite Kira and Joy up there too, except there is no room. And they do tend to shed more and have dirtier feet than the Gremlins.

I can't wait to get bunnies. They'll be on the bed too, probably. In my fantasy everyone will get along famously. Can you imagine, three cats, some bunnies, and two papillons in a bed? Where the hell am I going to sleep?

And the food thing? 

I am almost ashamed to admit what I've been up to.

First of all, I cook for the dogs. Every other week I buy several pounds of ground beef and chicken, and I cook this huge stockpot with meat, brown rice, sweet potato, bone broth, chia seeds, liver, peas and carrots, and spinach or broccoli depending on what the darlings feel like that week. I mix this up with their kibble and this is what they get fed twice a day. Willow gets sardines. The other two cats would too if they'd eat them, but they won't. I tried to switch Spencer to a raw diet for kitties, but he was having none of it, and Puckett only eats HER kibble. 

And then not only do I cook for the dogs, they always get a few fries when I have fries for dinner. I slip each one a few tastes right from my plate.

I know, I know, it's terrible. So awful. And then I wonder why they beg.

Well, no, I know exactly why they beg. I take full responsibility.

Their other favorite snack is tortilla chips. If I'm having some nachos well, by God, they have to have some tortilla chips (minus the queso - I mean, I'm not trying to kill my dogs with unhealthy food). They get giblets whenever my friend cooks a whole chicken or a turkey. She gives me the insides so they don't go to waste, and my dogs LOVE this. I will buy them fresh chicken livers at the local meat store. But they won't eat them raw. They must be cooked to a tender pate.

The only thing I won't get for the dogs or eat myself anymore is bacon or anything pork. Once they got bacon because it came with a meal kit, and I don't eat bacon so rather than waste it, I cooked it up for the dogs. I'm too much of a pig advocate to endorse eating them. Not that cows and chickens are any less special (though I am less attached to birds), pigs just have a speical place in my heart. 

If i had my way they'd eat venison and elk, but I'm no hunter and I worry about parasites.

Yes, the meat is all organically raised and locally sourced.

Oh, and lately before bed they all get a spoonful of whipped cream, their very own puppuccinos. 

Because dogs don't get human food and should not be fed table scraps. 

My ex-fiance would be furious right now if he could see how I've fallen.

Is it wrong that I get a wicked sort of pleasure at the thought of this? I feel like I'm sticking it to all the abusive assholes in my life who had a problem with my animals. The jackass I dated for a summer who told me to get rid of Puckett and Willow, but I "could keep" Percy and Tess because they were the "cool" pets, like what does that even mean? And the ex-fiance who thought he had any say in the matter of whether I would be "allowed" to get more pets when mine all passed on. Or the recent one who I call AA for Abusive Alcoholic who said Tess was nothing but some dumb old blind dog that I acted like an idiot over. He beat Joy when she misbehaved, and scruffed Murphy when he misbehaved and smacked Kira around that one time she bit me accidentally.

Wow, I've dated a lot of assholes.

I think I'll stick with the animals. And now the only time I'll feel like a hypocrite again is if I ever forsake them by bringing another one of these losers into my life. They deserve better.

 And so do I.