My husband is a wuss when it comes to animals. You’d never guess it looking at him, but he is such a pansy when it comes to our brood, which now includes one cat, one dog, one hamster and two frogs.
I don’t think I’ve ever referenced my devil cat on the blog, but I do have one. I rarely see him, so he and I don’t talk much anymore. I got him right out of college and he’s 13 years old now, but he never comes out of hiding unless my husband shakes his treat can, then proceeds to give him half the bottle because he is whining. He attacks our house guests (ask our friends Ashley and Jack) and he snarls at strangers. He won’t let Walker look at him without growling and hissing and he basically lives in the upstairs part of our house so Lucy can’t get to him. Last night, Lucy got upstairs by accident and I thought we were going to have a homicide in the other room before I could get in there and separate the two.
Then there’s the crazy dog, which you’ve heard much about. Mike still refuses to keep her in a crate at any time whatsoever. We’ve had the new carpet for two weeks now, crossed fingers, no accidents yet. But the second she even looks like she’s searching for a squat, she will be banished to the crate by mean old mommie.
The frogs are those ones you get in the little plastic boxes and basically don’t need anything except to be fed twice a week. Mike, of course, feeds them like every day. He thinks it’s wrong to only give them food twice a week. Really?
Imagine his panic when I decided to introduce the hamster formerly known as Softie (now Bulldog because today was pet day at school and Walker thought he needed a cooler name) to Lucy.
They were fine, I just wanted them to meet. They are family, right?
So I guess it’s good my football-watching, Duke basketball fanatic, crime-show and mafia-obsessed husband does have a softer side. But I still think he’s a wuss because he can’t even make it through Marley and Me without turning the channel.