My Dog is a Bigger A-Hole than Your Dog

Dear Spike,

I like to think I’m a pretty forgiving person. I believe in second chances and clean slates, do overs and fresh starts. It is because of this gracious spirit, that I will not be discussing any of your past transgressions, Spike. I will not mention…

escaping out the second story window, landing on the roof, knocking over the kitchen table, destroying the pantry dry wall and door frame, cleaning up the blood spatter all over pantry after you tried to claw your way out eating 20 class Valentines (including the lollipops AND the sticks), destroying four lunch boxes, dragging the crock pot across the family room, igniting all three burners on the BBQ while we were at the movies, destroying the BBQ cover, and/or how you burned a hole in the vinyl fence…

…or any of the other crimes you have committed during your four years here in our home. I have moved on from those events, as you can see.

Despite my magnanimous grace, we seem to consistently find ourselves in the same precarious position – a Groundhog Day’esque cycle, if you will – because there seems to be one thing even greater than my abundant forgiveness… your knack for stirring shit up.

You, dear Spike, are trouble with a capital T, and no amount of grace can make up for the fact that you are, in fact, an a%#hole.

Several weeks ago I posted on my Facebook page that I thought you were depressed. What I meant, Spike, was that I am worried about you. What you heard was, Spike, I dare you.

In your ultimate act of rebellion, you executed Oilgate 2015.

In the three hours I was in a meeting you:

• Came upon a six-quart, cast iron pot filled with canola oil that had been used to fry chicken 12 hours earlier.

• Somehow pulled it down from the stove top, and onto the wood floors, saturating said floors and surrounding cabinets with chicken-infused canola oil.

(Behold every beach towel we own… and it still wasn’t enough to mop up all the oil on the floor.)

• You then continued to slip & slide your way along our wood floors throughout the entire bottom floor of our house before taking your oily self upstairs to my bedroom… where you proceeded to rub your body all over the light gray fabric footbaord of my bed.

Upon realizing the floors, cabinets and bed were not the only things saturated in oil, I made an emergency trip to the Dog Groomer after the following phone conversation:

Me:“Hi, do you have any emergency appointments available for this afternoon?”

Groomer:“I’m sorry, we are all booked for the afternoon.

Me: “But it’s an emergency. My dog smells like fried chicken and has chicken bits embedded in his fur.”

Groomer: “Can you be here in 20 minutes?”

Me: “I’ll see you in 10.”

Oh, Spike! Are you all wet from you bath? No, this is canola oil. A shiny coat is important to me and who doesn’t like the smell of fried chicken?

But the fun doesn’t stop there, does it Spike?

• After watching me spend two hours cleaning the floors and wagging your tail as I shelled-out $75 for an emergency deep clean at the groomer, you decided you weren’t as big of a fan of left over canola oil as you once thought. And so you barfed it allll up on the only carpeted area in the entire house.

And so I found myself traveling to Target. While this is typically a fun excursion involving a detailed search for the perfect throw pillows, cute underwear and scotch tape refills; this trip was a big fat DUD as I purchased $71 in cleaning supplies

Three days, approximately six hours of scrubbing, four falls for Nate as he tried to navigate our Disney On Ice-like floors, and five vanilla scented candles later… it was time to bring out the big guns.

Thank you Accurate Carpet Care for removing the stench from my carpet and for trying (unsuccessfully) to remove the oil stains from my light gray fabric footboard (and for cleaning my couch for $30 because I cried when we realized your efforts were unsuccessful).

Now that you’ve seen all the facts, Spike, what do you have to say for yourself? Do you feel guilty? Are you ashamed of your behavior? Do you see the emotional impact your poor decisions are having on our family? Are you ready to accept the help we are offering and leave right now for a canola oil rehab facility?

Spike, there are some things that will never change. Without fail, the sun will continue rise in the east and set in the west, 3.14 will always be the number for Pi, no one will ever sit in Sheldon Cooper’s spot, and you, my darling Spike, will always be an a$#hole, and I will always be the bigger a$# who forgives you.

There’s a special place in heaven just for me.

Please tell me I’m not the only one with a dog who needs therapy?

Vicky Willenberg is is a wife, mother and obsessive volunteer at her sons’ school. She works in Digital Marketing and Communications while juggling the class bake sale, folding laundry from two weeks ago and searching for the dog who escaped, yet again. You can find her chronicling the good, the bad and the hilarious on her blog, The Pursuit of Normal and on Facebook and Twitter Vicky has been featured on Scary Mommy, Mamalode, Mamapedia and BlogHer. She’s also had the privilege of being published in both HerStories Project anthologies.