You want kids? Test drive a puppy.

The culture of my neck of the woods is intensely family oriented, a trait for which I typically have no disagreeance. I may not completely “go with the flow”, but it is what it is and that’s okay. I support the idea of loving and enjoying the family you’ve got - and with my own few exceptions (of course) I’m with the crowd on this one. But here’s where I sort of break down the norm: The nature of local custom also extends to the continuing creation of families, implying young brides and young mothers. (In that order, mostly.) We’re talking 19-21 year old newlyweds. God bless ‘em. As a 27 year old single female without children, I’m outside the general demographic. On my 23rd birthday, one of my best friends assessed my situation by stating via birthday card: “This old and no boyfriend?! You may as well start collecting cats now… you’re destined to be the weird cat lady.” 

Well, desperation-based-cat-collecting isn't really my thing. I'm more a dog person anyway. I have two. 

Charlotte (Lottie) and Savannah (Nana)

And I tell myself that when other people MY age are talking about their blossoming family of 5, my modest family of 3 gives me some edge in those conversations. I can pretend it's comparable, right?  

"Oh? You're having problems potty training your 3 year old? That's too bad. My 2 year old has been trained since she was 4 months old... Have you tried rubbing her nose in it?" .... .... .... yeah, maybe not. 

So maybe it's just practice for the real thing? And my girls give me a lot of practice. 

There was one night, not too long ago, where I left one of my babies alone while mommy had a well-deserved night out with some friends. (I justified: 2 years in dog years is like 14... so she could handle herself, don't judge me.) I came rolling in around 2am to find my Savannah, and consequently my dining room, a bloody mess. (It was a blood bath, I'm not exaggerating.) She was freaking out, crying like a human baby. My kitchen blinds were demolished. I wondered, while trying not to pass out at the sight of her blood, if she was so distraught in my absence she tried to hang herself (I work with at-risk youth, it's how I'm trained to think), or if I had forgotten to feed her and she thought the blinds looked like a sharp-plastic version of a bone. Then, I panicked.  

I scooped up my puppy, threw her in the bath, tenderly bathed away the blood and gently pressed on her tummy to see if she would make those human-baby noises again. Having some sense not to call my vet at 3 in the morning, I called the first animal hospital's number I found, it was a pet ER about 50 minutes away from me -- I practically had my keys in hand, bound to break every speed law to get my baby some help.The lady on the other side of Pet-911 calmed me down so that she could understand me between my dry-sobs. I followed her instructions and was told I "probably wouldn't need to drive Savannah in... she probably wouldn't die before my vet's office opened the next morning." Which was a little comforting. I wrapped the now happy pup up in a towel and rocked her back and forth, really sobbing now. "If I can't take care of a puppy..." I cried, "how can I ever expect to raise a child?". Yes, the sleep-deprived, trauma-stricken, female mind will go there - every time. 

I called my vet's office and left a message for them to call me the second they were in. The next morning, or 4 hours later, Nana and I were in the small exam room with the vet who probed and worked his pet-voodoo magic. His diagnosis was cut-up gums and severe separation anxiety (apparently, a single mom who works 2 jobs is damaging to a young dog's psyche, enter: extreme guilt.) for which he said he'd call in a RX for an antibiotic and some Prozac. I joked with him "Prozac? Great, and what should I give Nana?" 

"How about a friend?" was his response. 

And that's where Charlotte (Lottie) came from. We rescued her from the local shelter... she's fun if you like dogs with by-the-book adoption issues. 

It makes sense, doesn't it? Because, if you can't take care of one -- get another! Maybe the problems will work themselves out! (Sarcasm?) We're just like any other slightly dysfunctional family: One of us is on Prozac, another wants all of your attention or none of it, and then there's the one of us who might be critically re-considering the whole desperate-cat-collecting thing. 

It's easy to spot (and be critical) of those people who should NOT be parents, right? I'm just a little distressed by the babies having babies these days -- so, I've come up with an ideal solution. I've decided that for every wedding I'm invited to, I'm gifting the newlyweds a puppy. I know, it's genius. Either it works according to plan and we rescue cute little critters WHILE saving a few children from ever suffering at the hand of ill-prepared parents. 

Or I'll never be invited to another wedding... nor will I be asked to baby/puppy sit. Ever. 

And that's what you call a win-win.