#only because my boyfriend’s parents have a septic tank and like

[inkykeiji]

so, alright, i accidentally dropped a whole bar of fucking soap down the toilet as it was flushing, and now it’s clogged and i am ._. freaking out only slightly

[kyliesolis]

My Childhood Pets

Another addition of “there are two types of people in the world:” people who enjoy having animals to love and care for, and people who would rather not. Either way is totally fine. I happen to be the first one. Animals have been such an important part of my life.

Throughout my childhood I had many betta fish. I still love betta fish and have two. I did a whole post on just the betta fish because there was so much detail there that may be boring to some people, but interesting to others.

The first pets I had that were not betta fish were gerbils. I wanted gerbils for so long; I saved my allowance for months. Then, finally, my parents rewarded my efforts by agreeing to pay for the rest of the expense. I think I had saved like fifty dollars, I don’t remember exactly. I got two male gerbils. They were tan with long brown tails. I named them Steve and Dude. They lived in a fancy, two layer cage, that had a tunnel to another smaller cage where they could also hang out. I have to say something horrible here, but lets go ahead and get it out of the way. I didn’t really like my gerbils much. When I first got them it was so fun to watch them wander around their cages, but after that the excitement wore off pretty quick. My two gerbils were not friendly at all. I don’t know if that was due to some mistake on my part, or just how they were, but they would bite if you tried to pet them. I had several childhood friends who didn’t believe me, and were proven wrong, and then sent home crying. Steve and Dude would sleep all day; then make noise all night. They always smelled terrible because instead of pooping in the material in their cage designed specifically for that—which was spread through the entire floor of their cage—they would poop and pee in their little plastic tunnels. They lived for almost three years, and I feel bad about this but I was happy when they died. Steve died first, and Dude lived for a few months afterwards. There was also a point in time when Steve bit Dude’s tail so hard that he actually bit the end of it off. They weren’t usually aggressive towards each other, but I guess Steve just snapped one day, I’m not sure. Nothing like having to take your gerbil to the vet.

Then there was a dog. I was always scared of dogs as a kid, literally climbing up my parents when one would come along. Apparently the best way to get over that is to get a dog, so we did. I am sure there was more decision making involved than that, but as a kid that was the part I knew about.

Her name was Maggie. We got her from the county pound. She was brown and fluffy and medium sized. She was an “ otterhound, terrier mix.” She was supposed to be the family dog, but she liked my mom best. She was so sweet and lovable, but also a crazy rascal. She would dig for hours, tearing up the yard in search of moles, sprinkler systems, septic tanks, and everything else. She chewed on the house. Seriously. I don’t know why, but the evidence is still there to this day. She had so much energy. My dad used to take her on bike rides where he would pedal as fast as he could while she bolted ahead down the street on her long leash. She ran away several times, but she always came back in a few hours. She just liked to explore, I think. It just scared us because what if she got hit by a car or something. She was a healthy dog, not really having any medical issues until old age, despite the fact that we never brushed her teeth or had her professionally groomed. She hated baths, but between my mom, my dad, and me we could always bathe her, we just got soaked too.

Once we had had Maggie for a few years, we got another dog, and he was my dog, Max. I loved him so much. He was a large dog. Seriously, like he was bigger than me when we first got him. He was supposed to be an otterhound too. Because we liked Maggie so much, we drove all the way to a pound in West Virginia (we lived in North Carolina) to get him. We were so lucky that he was still there when we arrived. He was the kindest, most loyal dog I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. He would follow me everywhere, and he loved everyone. People were scared of him because he was so big, but once they saw that he was harmless they loved him. He was blonde with black patches. He had tight curly fur that required regular brushing. It matted easily, and I think a lot of people who have otterhounds lean into this, and dread their dog’s hair. I didn’t want to do this so I just kept his hair brushed, and cut it short in some problem spots, like under his mouth where water would sit and get nasty, and under his ears. We had so many adventures together. I never had to keep him on a leash because he would just walk right next to me, but as he got older he started to get aggressive to older dogs so I had to leash him up.

One of my mom’s boyfriends also had a dog that I loved. He was a Plott Hound named Joe. He was so sweet and funny and energetic. I called him Jojo Beans and Jojoba, only I pronounced Jojoba like a white person. Joe and Max fought a bit but mostly got along okay. My mom had gotten another dog at that point, Sam. I didn’t really care much for Sam. My mom got Sam on the exact day that Maggie died, and it was hard. I understood why my mom did it, but for me it was like Sam was a replacement for Maggie, and Sam was a totally different dog, a small, yippy Jack Russell who barked at everything. I eventually grew to like her, but it was hard. She was mean to Max and Joe; she actually managed to bite a hole in Joe’s tongue somehow, and she bit Max several times, usually drawing blood. Also because Sam was small she got away with things the big dogs didn’t: sitting on the couch, riding in the car all the time, pulling on the leash, barking.

Max died right before I went to college. He had been acting weird for a while, not eating, and when we took him to the vet it turned out he had a brain tumor. It was too big to operate on, so we had to get him put down.

Since then, I haven’t had dogs. I only just recently adopted another dog. I have a strong preference for large dogs. What I want in a dog is a playful, lovable, goofball, who I can walk, run with, hike with, and play with. Also large dogs are lower maintenance, they typically have less medical problems. Large dogs kind of need a yard though. I mean you can make it work in an apartment, but it’s hard, and I’m not sure it’s fair to the dog. But I have been wanting a dog for so long, and don’t see a job that will pay well enough to afford a house on the horizon, so I decided to get a small dog. Luckily, I found a very precious small dog at my local pound, and he is a sweet little guy who I love dearly. I won’t go into much detail about that here, because I did a post all about it: https://kyliesolis.com/i-adopted-a-dog/