Puppy Mom Social Anxiety

4 Dec

So this past Sunday I hired some dude to paint my house, because fuck that shit. This meant my husband and I had to go out for the day, a luxury we have been missing out on since being homeowners (THAT sounds pretentious). Once in the car, my husband looks at me and dead seriously says, “Let’s get a dog”. So we did.

Introducing the best girl, my furrbaby-cuddlebug-snuggle-muffin-angel-face-poopy-head, Dilly:


She’s the shit. I love her, she loves me, and I cry every day looking at her. She’s so awesome and is going to live the best life with her puppy mom instagramming her every move in life. She’s an Australian Shephard, and as a fan of bigger dogs, I thought she was standard size before we signed her papers (due to some seriously fucked up false advertisement), but after some research – and by “research” I mean Googling – we discovered she is a mini. At this point we don’t care because we love her and people who return animals are reincarnated Hitlers who I wish a lifetime of Irritable Bowel Syndrome on (harsh?).

After we got her and she was done getting carsick on puppy dad, we headed out to Petco or Petsmart or Petsomething or other to get her some puppy supplies. Anytime I go into any of these stores, it’s for bird seed for my bird Boba Fett, and really no one gives a shit about birds. You can just get what you need, pay, and leave. But going into that store with a puppy was a game changer. Everyone and their mom talks to you if you have a dog with you. Asking questions, and showing you pictures of their dogs, and talking about their dead dogs, and telling you that string toys are bad news, and giving you advice about how to raise a puppy that doesn’t murder. It was like a friendly, informative, puppy parent community. Tons of proud puppy moms and puppy dads just reliving their experiences. And I wanted to tell everyone to get the fuck out of my face before I tell my dog to bite their  face off in front of their dogs. Let me get the chow and leave before my dog shits in aisle seven.

Social anxiety on high alert. I guess.

Love you, Dilly-kins. ❤ ❤ ❤


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