When My World Got Cheesy

The best part about cats is that they take care of themselves.

When I asked for a kitten this Christmas (specifically a mangy orange monster, preferably missing an eye or limb so I can pretend to be saving the world by taking in one of its victims) I didn't get one. Instead I got a perfectly healthy, overly priced puppy. Compared to my hypothetical pauper kitten (I would have named her Molly Weasley), Winston Marshall Price-Baldwin I is a tuxedo wearing prince, with an attitude to match.

I can't leave the house without him. I haven't urinated by myself for the last four months. There's no such thing as my own pillow (despite many the battle we have waged over who gets most of it). There's no such thing as just me anymore.

Somewhere in between tearing open Christmas gifts and throwing away the gift wrap, I became a teen mom to my dog. It's the best way I can describe this new cornucopia of culpability. And the worst part isn't that most of my Facebook statuses are dedicated to the strange things this puppy does, or that his farts are the silent and deadly kind. The worst part is that he loves me. This needy little thing that I never even asked for loves me.

When I get home from school I'm greeted by a black bullet that rams into my legs until I pet him. And even that's not enough, because it seems he is also required to lick at my face until he deems it properly slobbered on. Even though I left him home alone all day, he can find it in his little heart to say hello and act like I'm the best thing to happen to this world since macaroni and cheese (he loves cheese).

Sometimes I think if a human heart felt that, it might just break from so much love.

The responsibility to take care of something other than yourself is hard. You deal with your bed being peed on while making sure that nothing gets lodged in his throat (causing his untimely demise) as he tries to inhale everything on the floor and all the while enduring his obsession with feet, which is gross.

Oddly enough though, when your responsibility is love, things become much easier. You clean the bed (contemplating burning the mattress, but decide against such a rash action), vacuum the floor more in a week than you used to in a year, and put on some socks. But you don't mind.

The best part about dogs (especially Winston), despite their constant thirst for attention (and occasional wet toes) is that there is always somebody who thinks the sun shines out of your butt. Regardless of their cheesy farts, the truth is that their butts ain't so bad either.