I feel the need to bitch about my bitch. Ok, that was pathetic. I know.
Ruby is my eight-pound dog. She's a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, which for those of you who don't know what type of dog that is, it's the same kind that Charlotte had on Sex and The City (I know you know that show.)
Anyway, The Fiance got Ruby from a breeder in another city. This is because he knows how much I love dogs, and was trying to make me feel more at home in his city, where I had moved, you know, to be with him.
The Fiance meant well. Also, I had started to talk about maybe having a second child, and that freaked him out. He was probably thinking, "I'll get her a dog! That will get her mind off a second child!" It kind of worked too. Toilet training a dog is really very hard.
The thing is, I always grew up with big dogs from the Human Society. There was Spot, my favorite dog, a mutt who died suddenly after having a diabetic seizure.
There was Blackjack, a mutt, who was possible the stupidest dog in existence, but had a nice personality. He died of cancer.
Then, there was Bogey, a part beagle and very stupid dog too, who, though weighed about 90 pounds, thougt he was a lap dog and always wanted to sit on you. He was given to a very nice man, who adored Bogey, when I moved to The Fiances city, where he lived in a no-dogs-allowed condo.
Now we have Ruby, the 8-pound dog, because we moved into a house.
The Fiance liked The King Charles Spaniel, because Sinatra had one. So he was sold. I wasn't sold, because I love big dogs who I can lie on. And I wanted to rescue a dog from the Human Society, because those poor dogs. I didn't really want a small, designer dog. Anyway.
The Fiance found a breeder, made arrangements. And, $1000 and a few weeks later, we picked Ruby up at the airport. She was tiny. If I lied on her, she'd die. But she was cute, as most dogs are.
But the breeder LIED to us. Seriously. Ruby, the 8-pound dog, was turning out to be a lemon. That's what we call her actually, "lemon."She was supposed to be entirely Ruby-colored, and she is not. She also really, really likes to lick. Which is nice, for the first minute, but after 38 minutes, not so nice. Oh, and she limps.
We took Ruby to a Pet Resort (seriously, that's what it is called - a Pet Resort) when we went on vacation. I actually called them, while we were vacationing in Hawaii a few months ago, to check in. The woman who answered the phone was in shock that a dog-owner called to check up on their dog.
But, I mean, Ruby was part of the family. When I leave The Dictator, I call about 12 times a day to check in.
But the woman was friendly enough and came back to the phone saying, "Ruby is doing very well, and she's been playing with puppies because she is so small."
Anyway, when we picked Ruby up, her coat of fur looked about 120 shades lighter than when we dropped her off. They did wash her, like we asked, but I am convinced, so is The Fiance, that the breeder had dyed Ruby a darker brown (the color she was supposed to be) before shipping her to us.
The Fiacne is sick of Ruby. He gets really upset when she poos in the house. I'm more like, "But her poos are so small!," which is true, and a positive about owning a small dog.
The Dictator, we think, likes Ruby. Or at least she likes taking all of Ruby's toys and throwing them in the basement. Basically, I think The Dictator likes torturing Ruby, because Ruby is the only one in the house smaller than her.
I've grown the love Ruby-the-lemon-8-pound dog-who-limps. Even though we paid for a pure-bred dog, and that's not what we got. And we've already spent a couple thousand dollars on her, because her baby teeth weren't falling out and there was talk about giving her a leg operation, which I've turned down, because she doesn't seem to be in pain. She just limps.
The Fiance regrets getting her. But Ruby kind of did the trick. She, too, is a full time job. I couldn't imagine having another child, plus The Dictator, plus the dog.
And though in the 10 page contract we signed, from the breeder, we are allowed to give her back if there were any medical probelms in the first year. But, really, she's been with us for a few months now. I could NEVER send Ruby back. It would be like sending The Dictator back to the hospital and saying, "Well, you know, she cries a lot and makes a mess everywhere, and sometimes she likes to hit and bite me and she still doesn't sleep through the night.. She's a lemon! Can I have another please?"
Could you imagine?