MerrinDonahue.com

My dog is, to put it gently, neurotic. Not just a little, uh-uh. A lot. I know that I have created the monster that is her neuroses, and for the most part, I am comfortable with that. But for the past week, what with all the boxes lining the hallway and stacked to the ceiling in every room, she’s freaking out. Not just the usual freak-out, either. She’s truly gone over the edge. She whines constantly, and she won’t let me out of her sight. The other dogs are cool. They just eye the corrugated mountain disdainfully and pad to the pantry for treats (of course, the need to give said treats is motivated purely by guilt over the whole restriction of movement due to cardboard). You would think that my dog, who I absolutely could not live without, would chill. Alas, this is not the case. She honestly believes that Mommy and Daddy are leaving and never coming back. Granted, I could probably fare ok without the step-dog (relax, Kev, I’m only teasing), but an existence without Super Puppy would kill me. She is my baby. She is smart. She is funny. She loves me unconditionally. If my husband weren’t such a great man, I would have married my dog. Now if I could just teach her to do the dishes….