It's a dog eat dog world- and I am a plantain kind of girl

 It’s Friday, Friday, Friday.....

Oh hey, it is Friday and that can only mean one thing. It is Friday.

This has been the shortest long week of ever and while I was aching for some routine and normality after my vacation, being back at work without those things (because they haven't quite sunk in yet) is way worse than being on vacation without them.

But enough of me complaining.

So for this past week we have been dog sitting for the f-ing cutest dog in the world of dogs, Billie. Billie is a super small Boston terrier with the most fun-loving personality. Did I cry out loud on the subway this morning after leaving her? Yes, I sure did. Because, you know what? I learned a valuable lesson this week. I love dogs.

I have never been 100 percent sure that I would be eternally happy having a pet dog, but now I am certain that not only would I be super happy, I would increase my overall level of happiness by having one.

My husband, who is amazing in every way, is not a man who loves being pampered. When he is sick, he likes to be left alone. When he is down, he likes to deal with it himself. If he hurts himself, he can take of himself and honestly, unless he is asking about the exact location of Advil in the house, I know nothing of his everyday maladies.

I find this one of the more frustrating characteristics of his personality. I love taking care of people- it is just something I do. Feeling and probably actually being not needed is something I have had to learn to deal with as a part of the compromise of marriage. Enter dog.

Dog needs me all the time, wants to follow me around the house and give me kisses, wants to cuddle, wants to play, loves being chased around rooms, never gets annoyed with me and is cute as fuck. Dog successfully makes me feel needed ALL THE TIME!!! Plus, dog never grows up into a sullen teenager who will hate me and be ashamed to hold my hand in public. Dog doesn’t give a shit what I look like and dog makes me do double the amount of physical activity per day.

And, as a friend pointed out when she came over a bit sad- dogs are the perfect therapy. They are distracting and cute.

You can dress them up in stupid clothing.

They are always warm.

I woke up to take the dog out, spent time with her, fed her, cleaned her paw when she got salt stuck in it and put up with her terrible farts and snoring that rivals my hubs. I think I have proven myself more than worthy and capable of dog ownership.

I could go on but suffice to say that by volunteering our puppy sitting skills, my husband successfully turned me into an obsessive psycho with one, and only one end goal.

Dog 2013. Let the campaign begin.