On my ninth birthday, I got a dog. A tiny black and white miniature Schnauzer that I named Zoe. It was a total surprise and I was woken up by my parents late at night to be given a dog. Hence my pajamas in this picture:
I can’t say that Zoe was the best dog in the world, because that title belongs to our other dog at the time, Tasha (also pictured). Tasha was a smart, gorgeous Goldren Retriever who never did anything wrong. She was well behaved, friendly, great with kids and protective of us, but only when necessary. Zoe was none of those things.
She was the runt of the litter (much like myself), yappy and stubborn. She hated kids and strangers. You know that whole “put a towel over your dog’s head and the quicker they get it off their head, the smarter they are” trick? If you put a blanket over Zoe’s head, she wouldn’t move. She would literally sit for as long as it took until someone took the blanket off for her. She was dumb.
But she was mine, and I loved her dearly.
She would pose for pictures.
She also didn’t mind being dressed up in baby clothes.
Every year when we pull out the stockings, I am reminded of my dumb little friend who was a part of my life for ten years. It takes me back to my childhood, when things were simpler and my only care in the world was whether or not Zoe was in the mood to let me put her in my doll cradle. Those were good years. She was around for ten years, and after she was gone, I was thankful that little ten year old me loved her enough to have her on my stocking.
Now I’m rather mad at ten year old me for making this decision. You see, dear Internets, after the death of both Tasha and Zoe, came an animal quite unfortunate.
This dog is an entirely different story. She has Tasha’s intelligence, but Zoe’s dumb determination to bark and anything and everything. While Zoe spent time biting and jumping all over Tasha, Sassie spends time peeing in my room and eating the contact information off of business cards. Sassie lives up to her name, and I’m really not a fan of this creature. I’ve written about such things before, if you are inclined to read up on my hatred for this animal.
So now, every Christmas when I pull out my Zoe stocking, I am no longer fond of it. It no longer reminds me of a sweet, daft dog, but of the little black devil that now inhabits our house. I now have a tiny douchebag on my stocking.
Thanks for ruining everything, little me.
Did you have an awesome animal growing up? What about one that you hate with a passion?
P.S. I will not be entertaining any questions about my blue sweatpants or my boy haircut. I WILL however, point out that my Dad is reading the TV guide.