An Animal Person

I have been told I am not “an animal person.” In reality I am not “a pet hair, animal saliva, dog feces person.” I don’t enjoy cleaning any one of these things. It’s not that I hate animals. In fact, we have a dog, Max. Here he is after tearing through the garbage and trying to eat the wrapper of a Hershey’s bar. I know dogs aren’t supposed to eat chocolate. Don’t worry. I licked that sucker clean:


We got Max last Christmas. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. The kids were overjoyed. A year later Max still enjoys taking a random s*** in the house. Being as I am somewhat of a clean freak, Max is lucky he hasn’t been dropped off at a farm.

My kids made false promises in order to convince me to get a pet. I walk, feed and give this dog a bath the majority of the time. Guess who got to take Max to get a haircut today? That’s right, this lucky gal. Now, groomers, they are definitely “dog people.” It didn’t phase the cashier that she had patches of fur on her apron. Another groomer was eating a granola bar in the salon while standing in a pile of dog hair. It looked like a blanket of snow, but it wasn’t.

At one point Max decided to mark his territory near the entrance. I was horrified. “That’s okay,” she said. “It happens all the time.” It would be a cold day in hell before I cleaned up dog urine for a living. Then again, I’m not an animal person.