For the first 8 months of his life or so, Auggie used every opportunity possible (which is a hell of a lot when you have a 7 year old who languidly opens doors and wanders through them) to bolt from the sanctity of my home to my neighborhood. I cannot tell you how many times my fat pregnant ass had to huff and puff down the street after him in a futile exercise of Showing My Neighbors That I Cared. It embarrassed me to have The Dog That Runs and shamed me further that there was very little I could do about it. He was too fucking fast for me, that little asshole.
(note: these are the days when I dreamed of taxidermy-ing him into The Perfect Dog)
Eventually, we’d get him back in the house only to repeat the cycle ad infintum, ad nauseum.
Fortunately for us, we live in a really nice neighborhood and no one really gave us hell for it. It wasn’t as though we could do a whole lot about it (save for patch our back fence, where he’d happily escape) and we did what we could. It’s a Shiba Inu thing, The Internet told me, which made me feel loads better and the only reason that ickle shit head isn’t gone, doggie, gone.
One of the last times that he bolted, this happened. I hate to be an ass, but go back and read it and come back here.
(hums the Jeoprady song)
Oh wait, what’s that? A cute sibling picture while I wait? Don’t mind if I do.
Man, you’re a fast reader. I was gonna put more pictures here, but okay, moving on.
That was last October and for some inexplicable reason, Auggie stopped bolting. I’d say it was the Fear of God that I put in him, but anyone who knows me knows that’s a load of crap. The only person in this house afraid of me is Ben, and that’s because I’ve convinced him I’m psychic.
(also: how awesome is that?)
What I left out in that post was how ridiculously upset that made me. I don’t mind people being pissed at me for doing shit on purpose, but damn, I was trying to FIX the fact that Ben had let Auggie out. So not my fault. But I came home and cried my head off (see, I do have emotions other than, I Want A Fucking Cheeseburger and I Want A Fucking Nap).
So, a couple of weeks ago after school, Amelia happily napping in her swing (so glad I bought a crib for her not to sleep in), Alex happily destroying the hell out of my house, Ben brought over my Crusty Neighbor’s granddaughter. She’s been here before and she’s a huge brat, but this was before The Curious Incident With The Dog In The Daytime.
Honestly, this little girl was so unpleasant last summer that I really would rather her not come over–she’s also several years younger than Ben–because I don’t care to have to discipline someone else’s kid so that she can have the afternoon off. Plus, her grandmother was a huge bitch to me, and while I’m not pinning her voodoo doll likeness with straight pins, I’m not exactly baking her batches of cookies.
I sent them back outside that day because Amelia was sleeping and I didn’t want them to wake her.
But that brings me to my question, and it’s an honest one: should I overlook my own feelings on the matter so that Ben can play with his friend inside my house? I certainly don’t mind if they play together, but I’d prefer not to have to be the one in charge of her.
Tell me honestly what you think. What would you do, Internet?