I’m three months into doggy ownership, and my wallet has quickly realized that pets are expensive. This sudden drop of funds in my bank account has instigated the dog’s new nickname, Little Money. She’s a little dog, and all she does is cost me money.
Now, I’m not talking about the obvious costs like dog food, flea collars, and chicken-flavored chew toys. I’m talking about stuff I never considered to be expensive—like individual biodegradable doggy doodie bags.
These expensive little doodie bags are something that I’m socially required to carry around while I walk the dog. And in order to ensure I don’t receive dirty looks from my neighbors while Little Money and I go on our morning bowel stroll, I have to publicly display that I have my bags with me at all times. I see other dog owners tie these bags to their belt loops or to the dog’s collar like little peace flags that say, “Yes, I know this animal is going to defecate on your tulips, but don’t worry, I’ve got my crap bag at the ready.”
The new requirement to show that you are a good person these days is you need to have one hand on the dog leash while your other hand carries a bag of fresh crap. Yes, carrying crap around is the neighborly thing to do. And every bag of crap means you will need to go back to the pet store to buy more crap bags.
This concept of picking up after your dog is a novel one, however it has to confuse the dog a bit. During our walks, when Little Money does her business and I lean down and pick it up with a baggie before we walk back to our own house with the bag of poop, the dog has to say to herself, “Buddy, if you’re going to collect my poo and take it home, I can save us both the trouble and just do that inside the house.”
I really can’t blame the dog for being confused. As I lean down to pick up the dog poo and put it in a bag, I often wonder to myself, “Why am I doing this when it was my daughter who wanted a dog?” Regardless of the debate on what to do with dog poo and who should do it, I do my part to protect my neighbor’s lawns for the good of the hood. But I will admit these environmentally friendly bags aren’t cheap, and for the cost they sure don’t hide the smell much.
I’ve learned to accept the extra costs of the bags because I’m happy the dog is going to the bathroom outside. Well, the dog goes No. 2 outside. Right now it can’t be bothered to go outside for No. 1. The hallway of our house is just too convenient of a place to go No. 1. When the dog pees in the house, I do what my dad did to our family dog when I was a kid: drag the dog by its neck, shove the dog’s nose into the wet spot yell, “NO!” and then smack the dog in the rear and throw its butt outside.
Well, I should clarify, I did this once, to the absolute horror of my wife and daughter, who freaked out because I was abusing the dog. They practically called Amnesty International on me for cruel and unusual torture of the dog.
Instead of arguing with the gentle ladies of the house, I reluctantly turned over potty training to them. The girls talked to the dog like it was a baby (using the English language) and kindly requested the dog go outside to go to the bathroom. No surprise here, the dog continued to use the carpet in the hallway. Did this encourage my wife and daughter to use a little tough love on the dog? Nope. Instead they used Google, which said to spray vinegar on the carpet where the dog went to the bathroom. Apparently dogs hate the smell of vinegar (as do humans) and theoretically, the dog won’t go to the bathroom there anymore. This has not worked, and the dog still pees in the hallway.
I will admit, the girls of the house have been successful in one thing and that is making the hallway of our home smell like piss and vinegar. Now I need to add the cost of cleaning the carpets to pet ownership. More money out of my bank account, thanks to the dog.
I’ll be honest, I’ve been quite offended by the lack of outrage both my daughter and wife have shown the dog after she continually goes to the bathroom on the carpet. For years, I have been enduring constant criticism and physical threats for the smallest drop of pee on the toilet seat. But the dog can completely empty its bladder on the hallway carpet and my wife gives her a doggie treat. It’s ridiculous. Based on that scenario I’d be better off going to the bathroom on the carpet. If I do, maybe my wife will bake me a cupcake.
Along with the costs of the individual crap bags, carpet cleaning, and now the spray bottles of vinegar, I’ve found the dog is costing me money for other reasons. Dumb reasons. And those reasons are because my wife, whom I love, is sort of a hypochondriac for the dog. She obsesses over every little sneeze or scratch. If the dog has a small bump on its head, my wife wants to get the bump checked out by a qualified medical professional. If the dog has a small scab on its knee, my wife wants to head directly to the veterinarian to ensure there is no infection.
These little trips to the vet financially add up quick. We dropped $100 to have a scab evaluated just so the vet could say to us, “It looks like the dog has a scab.” Really, $100 for that medical assessment? Instead of Little Money, I’m thinking of changing the dog’s name to Lotta Money.
Rob is considering purchasing K-9 medical insurance. He was thinking something small, but his wife wants to get the platinum plan.
This article appears in Nov 19-26, 2015.
