I wanted a dog real bad. I have, since childhood, wanted a dog real bad. When I was younger, the condition was that if I kept my room clean for 2 months straight, then I could talk to my mom about it. As on any given day there was rarely carpet showing amidst my books and clothes and other teen accessories that was basically my mother’s way of saying no, but making it my ‘fault’.
So, she bought be a goldfish. When it died, we got gerbils. When they died, we bought a hedgehog. And by the time it died, I’d gone off to college. And, in college, I was lucky I was able to take care of bathtub.
Moving into my own apartment recently gave me a freedom high. I admit, paying rent and managing my savings account led to a rush of blood to the head. Such a large rush, in fact, that I temporarily thought I could handle a lil pup. The past few Saturdays, I’ve taken to wandering the streets, serendipitously finding myself in front of pet shops. Gazing at the four legged wee ones, I though which one I would, no, I was, going to pick. I even thought of names, like Almodovar (after one of my favorite directors), Galway (my favorite city) or Walnut (ah, cute!). The possibilities were endless.
Thankfully, my mother has the ability to make dreams come crashing down with a single phone call. Who’s going to walk it when you’re at work? What have your roommates said? Do you plan on neutering it?
The worst part is, she was right. I can’t care for a dog right now and probably not for years to come. Not because I wouldn’t love it enough, I would, but because it wouldn’t be fair to Sir Lancelot, Bucko, or Stephen Colbert, Jr. Jr. And, because, in the words of philosopher Don Henley, “sometimes love just ain’t enough.”