Puppy love, puppy ire

When I started law school almost three years ago, we had recently lost our family pet, a five-year-old mostly yellow lab, Maggie.  Her premature death left me devastated for a very long time, and I am still deeply saddened whenever I think of her.  She was the best dog I had ever had, and losing her left a giant hole in my heart that we tried to fill six months later.  We researched and scoured the Internet for what would be the right dog for us.  Our first-born daughter was nearly two years old, and we considered that another 85-pound dog may be a bit big for a playmate.  We found a breed out of Texas called a Blue Lacy, and arranged to bring one to our home.

When Sipsey was introduced into our family, it was quickly apparent that we had adopted a very high-spirited and active puppy.  Having been a dog owner all of my life, I was well aware of puppy behavior that must be molded from destructive to acceptable.  Sipsey was a challenge from the start, chewing everything, even objects that I had never known dogs to destroy and digest, such as wood and metal.  She was opposed to house-training and even more opposed to kennel-training, howling incessantly despite commands, cajoling and outright threats.  We enrolled her in “puppy day care” in an attempt to limit the amount of time she spent alone and damage she was causing while we were at work (I think she would have eventually even chewed out of her kennel).  The expense was worth it, but the problems at home continued at the end of the day and on weekends.  With me at class every night and my husband juggling the puppy and our toddler, we weren’t able to devote the time necessary to domesticate Sipsey.

In our infinite wisdom, we decided she needed a canine companion.  Having had beagles before (the pair are still with my parents, and have hit the milestone ages of 15 and 11), I knew the breed and thought a beagle would be a good addition for Sipsey to run and play with in our giant fenced-in backyard.  So Lucy joined our chaotic abode.  Unfortunately, Lucy was an unexpected escape artist.  The tiny tri-colored pup could burrow out of any yard, probably laughing at the obstacles we tried to put in place.  I spent many an hour searching for her through our expansive starter-home neighborhood.  At some point, as heart-breaking as it was, it became obvious that we were no better guardians for Sipsey and Lucy than they were pets for us.  We found them good homes through our veterinarian’s office and, even though our time together had been fraught with problems, I cried as I watched them go.

It was at that point that my husband declared that our schedules were too busy to properly care for and train a puppy, and that as much as we missed Maggie, it was a disservice to attempt to raise a puppy in our home at this time.  We both worked full-time (or more) and I had school every night, not getting home until 9 p.m. or later.  He said at that time that we should not get another dog until I was through with law school and taking the bar.

All of that to bring the story to the present: I took advantage of my husband’s promise and brought an adorable 9-week-old chocolate lab home two days ago.  To appease him (as he started back-pedaling before I got her, saying that it still may not be the best idea to get a puppy now), I let my husband name her.  Now we are experiencing puppydom again as we forge family ties with Gracie.  Yes, she’s had an accident or two on the floor already.  She doesn’t yet understand the word “no,” jumping up on my daughters and chewing anything that holds still long enough.  Still, her demeanor is evidently different from that of Sipsey and Lucy’s even this early, possibly because we have already been able to spend more time with her.  She is very sweet and affectionate, and covers you with puppy kisses, reserving those sharp milk teeth for other objects.  She loves to be held and petted and shows a healthy curiosity for the children, without being too rambunctious.  She actually slept through the night last night, and quiets within five or so minutes after entering the kennel.

Yes, the addition of a puppy has quickly reminded us of the work involved and the distasteful tasks (cleaning poop from the floor, for example) that go with it.  But it has also reminded us of so much more.  For example, remember how I said my husband had grown accustomed, no, content, with no longer being a dog owner?  He was not thrilled (read: told me not to) go pick up the pup when I told him of my plan.  But when he saw that adorable brown bundle bounce up to him, when she smothered him in puppy kisses and he caught a whiff of that distinctive puppy breath, he couldn’t help but smile.  He sternly told me not to let her jump up, that we had to teach her that the couch was off-limits, even though I just wanted to hold her in my lap and I complied.  But when he came to bed that night and heard her softly crying in her kennel (we had just finished the 3 a.m. outing), he asked me if he could just put her in bed with us for a minute, just a minute.  Of course, I caved.  The truth is, when you’re a dog lover, you’re a dog lover for life.  There’s a reason the expression “puppy love” endures.

When work feels like torture

Today is my first day back to work after my two-month leave of absence.  That time was negotiated for the purpose of studying for the bar.  At least, that’s what I told my boss.  The truth is, I had almost hoped he would deny my request to take time off so I could quit outright.  I hate my job.

During my supposed leave, my employer still found ways to be a jerk.  First, he didn’t quite hold his end of the bargain, calling on me to do more than what we agreed on, and accusing me of dropping the ball on my end.  Then, I heard that he said less than pleasant comments about my husband, whom he has also done business with.  Furthermore, I had clients who told me rather disparaging remarks he made about me, kind of side-door insults regarding my performance at work (he would say to clients that he didn’t know if I would be calling on them, that he never knew if I was going to be somewhere — did I mention I was on a two-month leave?).  My clients were unhappy because they said they were receiving terrible customer service from the office.

The week before last, I dropped by work fully intending to resign.  Somehow, I didn’t.  It still baffles me.  To date, my boss has made racist and sexist comments at work and extremely lewd remarks at a company gathering about the receptionist, has contradicted himself repeatedly about whether I should spend more time in the office or out on sales calls, spoken poorly of my family, told me that my husband should be the one that takes the children to the doctor because I am more needed at my job than he is at his, and shorted me $700 on my last paycheck, claiming that those accounts were actually his.  Sadly, there’s more, but I just get angry thinking about it all.

I am currently interviewing for a position at another company, but the position is not available quite yet, not to mention that there is no guarantee that I will be hired for it.  I haven’t actively pursued other employment because I feel like I am in limbo while waiting for the bar results, which will be in at the end of September.  I barely slept last night, sick at the thought of returning to work today.  I have a dentist appointment scheduled this morning and I know he will be very unhappy about that, to say the least.  Except when it is he playing golf, appointments away from the office should always be for work-related activities unless they squarely fit into your lunch hour.

As the time to get ready for work and leave the house get ever nearer, I am still mulling over my options.  I am against the idea of burning bridges in professional life, regardless of what a creep a person may be, so I know that I have to find a diplomatic approach to whatever I decide to do.  That still doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about quitting by e-mail — one that details his bigoted, crass and hateful attitude and all of his professional shortcomings — and accidently sending it to the 700 people in my work database. 

Absence makes the heart grow heartsick

We returned today from a five-day cruise to the Western Caribbean, with ports of call in Costa Maya and Cozumel. Fortunately, Homeland Security is still lax on the new passport requirements, and the issue of whether I could be stranded in Mexico “lacked ripeness,” as they say in the legal world (even if I don’t pass the bar, I can still talk like a lawyer). The four-hour drive to retrieve a last-minute copy of my birth certificate was sufficient, while an adventure of its own. The guard had to be called to get one lady to stand down when she vehemently protested her date of birth as registered on her birth certificate. Apparently, her mom had been mistaken for the past 36 years.

Our much-needed vacation turned out to be everything we had hoped for. While our particular cruise was not the most luxurious available, it had all of our requirements met and exceeded. The food was good, the drinks were flowing, the service was excellent and you could do as much or as little as you wanted. Our stateroom, though small, was more than adequate as a place to sleep and change clothes. We even had a king-sized bed and a huge picture window. We partook in several activities on and off the ship, including various dining arrangements, shows and the casino, as well as the opportunity to lounge uninterrupted on a ship deck or on the beach in Mexico.

By Day Three, we had completely shed our tension and worldly worries, replacing them with fruity beverages and the smell of the ocean. By that night, I was longing for my children in such a desperate way that I volunteered to watch the toddler in the stateroom next to ours while his parents readied themselves for dinner. (I still have absolutely no regrets about not taking my own two young children on the cruise.)

By the last night, we had become just as excited to be returning home as we were to be departing for the first day of the cruise, as were another couple that we met, who seemed to be getting equally as heartsick for their three children. Believe me, I recognize the need for and the level of relaxation achieved by time spent away from my children, and for that there is no substitute. But as I scooped them up in my arms today and hugged and kissed them, I was reminded for the millionth time since their arrivals in my life how very precious and amazing it is to have them and be together as a family.

It didn’t hurt that my mother, who watched them in our absence, told me that my four-year-old had a meltdown the night before crying, “I want my Mommy! I miss Mommy!” Sweeter still was when my baby pointed at me and, in lieu of the usual “Ma-ma” said, perfectly, “Mommy!” My heart just swells.