#also it’s going be almost 80F today so like. fuck it
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i am super pleased with how this dress turned out
if Christmas is gonna keep trying to creep past thanksgiving into november, i think we should simply keep Halloween going for as long as it takes to push it back
#also it’s going be almost 80F today so like. fuck it#it me#ootd#today i wore#handmade#handmade dress#all clothing is costume#be the ms frizzle you want to see in the world
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cw: negativity, ranting, and blood
So. I’ve been working on Sir for a pet for two and a half years. I tried to get one of my cats back from my ex, He said no. I tried a few dozen times to take another dog; basenji mix; He said no. I’ve angled for cats, and dogs, and ferrets, and got talked down all the way to a pair of rats. Whom, let’s be perfectly honest, I would have LOVED to have as pets.
Because adorable, tiny, furry faces with WHISKERS and wiggly noses and CUTE FUCKING CAGES with fleece and treats and hidey-holes, and and and. RATS. I adore rats. I’ve been researching their feed requirements, cage sizes, reviews, breeders vs rescue/feeder/shop, ideal temperatures {between 65-80F at most}, and appropriate treats that don’t make them gain too much weight. If you could see my pinterest... you’d know.
But. Along came this “golden opportunity” for me to help out a friend and maybe myself too. She was moving out of state due to some in-house deepfried BULL SHIT, and hey. This is my best damn friend here. Especially locally. So, what do?
What do, apparently, is to allow her and her partner + friend to live in my home. For over a week. Without rent, grocery money, or any other recompense save for following a few simple rules. 1: no glass/open containers in the bedrooms due to concrete flooring {prior ferret ‘incident’ means no carpet}, 2: no food in the rooms but individually wrapped/no crumbs/etc because This is [State] and Our Bugs Are Huge. 3: clean your own dishes and keep the food traps empty {no garbage disposal due to prior old-house-plumbing issues.} 4: make sure the two {2} dogs are fed and walked so there’s no accidents.
That’s it. Those are my rules of extended-stay house guests. SO. What bloody well happened? I found six cans of various and sundry sodas between their mattress and the wall. I found multiple food wrappers and a few Big Bugs against my baseboards. One dog had two accidents in the space of an hour and a half. Getting information re: dogs, estimated time of departure, and how they were going to fit everything they brought over into two cars for the drive out of state.... was like pulling teeth from an unwilling mouth.
During this time, Sir and I were trying to decide whether or not we could take the second dog. GSD, fully vetted, “registered” service dog, fully trained, good solid animal, etc etc etc. So, we handwave the accidents; shit quite literally happens in life after all~ Frustrated and annoyed, we let it slide. A dog is a dog is a dog. And he’s only three, after all~ We ignore the food in the traps, the unscraped dishes in the sink, the spills on the floor, the mouldering leftovers in the fridge. We ignore the whining in the kennel, and the sex-noises coming from the back room while we go without; mostly; in order to be respectful of the fact that these people have JUST LOST THEIR HOME AND MUST RELY ON FRIENDS FOR HELP.
We ignore the snide comments from their friend about paying for things and requiring some sort of payment for all the things they are suddenly leaving in our home. Because, as predicted, you cannot fit four carloads into two for a 16hr+ drive across state lines. Particularly not with a dog in the car as WELL. No, I will not be paying you for gas money, no, I will not be buying the armchair you left in my living room, or the desk chair currently sitting in one of the bedrooms out of the way.
I will, apparently, be paying for better dog food, treats, shampoo and conditioner, and new toys for a half-trained, aggressive, twitchy, constantly crying animal who literally BROKE SKIN on my Partner for the crime of pushing his rolling chair away from my desk and standing up.
Twice, in one night, he has lunged for my Partner’s stomach and chest. Because, somehow, I need to be guarded from the singular person who loves me more than life itself. We were doing crate training today, to help soothe the anxiousness and apparent separation anxiety that comes from being away from your kennelmate for almost 36 hours. {And, let’s be honest, prior handler.}
And after all of this, I find that not only have I missed the closing of my local dungeon and final party after not getting a ‘real’ scene for almost two fucking weeks; but ALSO that service dogs need to specifically be non-aggressive to pass ANY sort of training WHATSOEVER. This bullshit about “guarding me” and “requiring protection” is bullshit. Either you need a guard dog, or you need a service animal. They cannot be the same animal.
Can you fucking imagine what would have happened if he did that IN PUBLIC??? Bad enough he’s broken skin and my Partner is now in pain over an animal he didn’t want in the first place. Bad enough that after two and a half years of struggling to talk him around into a pet for my anxiety and depression, to help soothe me and calm me via “fuzz therapy” that I get this kind of reaction. To a “SERVICE ANIMAL” SUPPOSEDLY trained specifically to help people with PTSD and anxiety.
HE IS FUCKING BLEEDING OVER THIS SHIT. A ferret, you EXPECT to get bit. A cat? fuck around with it too much you’ll get scratched. Fact of life. A dog...? A fucking dog, a GERMAN SHEPHERD, with jaws this strong and teeth this large...? This is fucking SERIOUS. I was MISLED. I’ve been LIED TO. And all I can think, is that it’s not the fucking DOG’S fault!
As terrible as this is and as upset as I am, I cannot and will not blame the dog for learned behavior that I will now have to struggle to undo. I will have to fight my anxiety and get a fucking driver’s license after swearing I wouldn’t drive a large vehicle again, just to get this animal to a fucking trainer to fix what’s been broken. I will have to find the money to get him trained. I will have to beg my Partner, who is already frustrated and upset and worried for his safety in his own FUCKING HOUSE, after the past WEEK of having to DEAL. WITH. THIS. SHIT. to help me fix this damned fucking disaster of a situation.
I AM ENRAGED. I AM FRUSTRATED. I AM PISSED THE FUCK OFF that what was supposed to be a wonderful experience; our first dog as a couple omg; is... THIS. An half-trained, three year old german shepherd with the manners of a puppy and the aggression of a scalded cat.
But yeah no. He totally walks well on a leash and knows how to “sit.” Sometimes. We’ll ignore the rest of it, because my best friend is fucking terminal and I’m so desperate not to lose her that I’d take on even THIS situation just to be close to part of her for as long as possible.....
This is my reward. THIS is what I get for that sentiment. I am so fucking sick of being lied to by the people I trust- fuck. I regret every fucking word that came out of my mouth the entire god-damned-time they were here. Friends do not do this to each other. Sure. “His paperwork is in the mail, sorry for giving out your address~” Right.
I’ll be contacting his “school” in the morning. Right now, I have to keep a three year old dog who should know better from crying and howling the night away for the sake of my neighbors, and so Sir doesn’t have to go to work exhausted, tired, and pissed in the morning. Thanks for that, I really fucking appreciate the kind gesture of a “service dog” for my ptsd that attacks the only person who can reliably pull me out of a panic/flashback.
Really. I mean it.
#neg#pissed to fuck#cage ment#because I'm not a COMPLETE asshole#unlike some people who know better and should have spoken tf up#C
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