If it weren’t so damn cliche I would write a poem about standing in the bathroom stall at work, dressed in my favorite heels, forehead resting against the cool metal door, crying my eyes out. But that is awfully cliche…
Over the past couple of weeks I have found that taking Daisy to the local dog park is very theraputic – not only does she get to run around with other dogs and burn some of that never-ending energy, but it’s hard to be anything but light-hearted when you’re surrounded by that many dogs. Plus the weather has been fantastic so I am taking advantage of it to the best of my ability.
Last night I went to the park and as I often do, I was talking to some of the other dog owners. One woman had a 6 month old Jack Russell that Daisy played with for nearly 30 minutes, the two of them running in circles, stopping only to get water. Another guy was there with a dog that was slightly bigger than Daisy, and since I couldn’t determine the breed, I asked. He said it was a Chow/Jack Russell mix, and that he and his wife had adopted it; the original owners had given it up because it had bit their child. Before I could respond with “Daisy is adopted too!”, he continued, “I haven’t had any problem with her biting and I have six kids.” I just stared at him, dumbfounded. He couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than me. Pointing to one small child he said, “She’s my oldest, she’s nine.” At that time his wife walked up, their other children in tow. The youngest was probably a year old (a note of caution – I am extremely bad at guessing ages, on adults and children alike. So while I say it was a one year old, it could have simply been a 5 year-old midget. What do I know?). It was then that I noticed his oldest was wearing a polo that had “St. Michael’s School” embroidered on it. Suddenly it all made sense to me. Not only were they an uber-Catholic family, quite clearly, he and his wife are uber-fertile. Lovely, just what the world needs, a few more religious fanatics.
