Slobbered and Stomped

Not a day goes by that I’m not slobbered or stomped. I don’t think I know what it’s like to be polished any more. Shiny shoes are a thing of the past and if I washed my hands every time I touched the dog, my hands would be washed away by now. Then there are the slobber marks that seem to be permanently on my jeans but they just change their location. That’s the way it goes when you’re the mom of a little girl who is lovey, licky, and likes to mash dirty, slobbery toys into you.

When I’m out shopping and I see a cool pair of shoes or boots, I get all excited then I think to myself, “how easy will these be to clean once they’re licked and stomped?” Then I walk away. This just isn’t right, I should have her trained to at least not stomp on me any longer. I wish. Everyone has to have the mark of Chili or their life just isn’t as great as it could be. The thing is, it’s not that I like being slobbered and stomped, it’s just that she’s so damn cute doing it. It’s almost impossible to get mad at her and when you do, you regret that you did because those big brown eyes are staring at you like she just did you a favour and you didn’t appreciate it.

Playing with her means you’re going to be slobbered. It’s imperative that she bring her toy to you and mash it into you before she lets you take it. It’s a must, like some unwritten law. The dirtier the toy, the better the mashing. You don’t even have to be actively playing with her. You could be standing over the sink, doing the dishes, when suddenly you’re goosed with an unstuffed squirrel. She not exactly subtle and she doesn’t really care about boundaries. If mashing the toy in your ass gets your attention, then that’s what she’ll do. After all, she knows you want to play with her, she’s just giving you an excuse.

Of course there’s the dog hair. I admit to constantly hugging Chili. I can’t stop, she’s too irresistible. This explains why I’m always covered in dog hair. If you come over for dinner sometimes, stop reading. Yes, if you’ve eaten dinner here you’ve eaten Chili hair, likely. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been boiling water for spaghetti, looked into the pot, and saw dog hair. Of course, I pick them out, so I do try to cut down on the Chili hair intake, but you’re eating them. Live with it. I was eating lunch at work one day when I looked down and saw a hair on my plate. For a split second I was grossed out, then I realized it was a Chili hair that fell off me. Once I figured that out, I just picked it off.

Now if any of this was due to another human, I would not be impressed. Human hair, disgusting. Human slobber, gross. Being stomped by a human, that’s rude. Put them all together and that’s one person I want to knock out. But somehow, because it’s a dog, I put up with it and even like it sometimes. You really do learn to relax about things when you have a dog. I’m sure that applies to any type of animal. It’s a good thing, to relax. The other day Chili’s cousin, Rocky Rocks, was so excited to see me that he was jumping in and out of my truck. As he usually does, he dribbled, but this time he was on my seat. My reaction, oh well, give me a cloth to wipe it up, no worries. If that had’ve happened 3 ½ years ago, I would have lost my mind, seriously lost my mind. Ahhh progress.

A better state of mind, beaten into me....courtesy of Chili.