My Opinion

I’ve had some big(ish) decisions to make lately. In doing so, I’ve realized there’s no real manual in life on how to make choices. My parents keep mentioning something they refer to as “rational thinking,” but that sounds a little too, well, rational for me. So, I’d like to offer the following as an example to follow when decision making.

1. Sleep very little. Wake up to think at ungodly hours when thoughts like “I’m going to die alone and the dogs will eat my carcass before anyone finds me” seem totally normal.

2. Stop being productive in any other area of life. Seriously. Any. People may mention that you haven’t showered in three weeks. Tell those people you’re thinking really hard about something that doesn’t involve a loofah.

3. Ask everyone you know for advice. Your postman, that guy at Starbucks, the concierge in your building, your great aunt. Everyone. Then blatantly ignore everything they say. (See: “Re-Making Friends After Making Life Decisions”)

4. Make lists of pros and cons. Delete list. Make new list. Delete list. Make new list. Delete list. Throw laptop through window. Retrieve laptop from yard. Make new list. Delete list.

5. Read quotes online and try to apply them to your life. Consider constructing a life mantra based entirely on Steve Jobs quotes. Realize that’s stupid.

6. Try asking your dachshund for advice. Realize that’s stupid.

7. Try listening to inspirational music. Realize that no one has ever made a good decision based on the feelings they have after listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack.

8. Make up extended metaphors that apply to your situation. Make the metaphors involve food. Make yourself hungry.

9. Drink wine. Not solving the problem? Try tequila.

10. Write a blog entry about decision making—you know, in order to put off actually making a decision.

On the off chance you didn’t immediately run out to pay $10 for a publication full of cottage-themed homes after I mentioned my house was in a magazine yesterday, I’ve put the article below. Please excuse my mundane quotes like “It was a matter of picking out things that were pretty and figuring out where to put them in the house.” Seriously. The rocket scientist of the design world I am not. 

Saturday night I went to a super swanky (and kind of cheesy) restaurant where at the end of the meal the host presents each female patron with a single stem red rose. Back in the car, I tossed mine in the backseat and forgot about it.

Until this morning.

When I opened the back door of my car to let Pawley out for daycare, she came charging out with a single stem red rose in her mouth. She ran through the entrance gate in said manner and up to the owner before dropping the rose.

I now look like I’m romancing the doggie daycare owner—and using my dog to do it. 

Awesome.

On Sunday night Pawley got sick. Then, all day yesterday she kept acting weird. Using all of my veterinary knowledge, my extensive medical background, and some brilliant psychoanalysis, I decided that Pawley was dealing with Post Traumatic Stress from being sick on Sunday night.

I broached my theory to my mom who said that I should stop putting my emotions on my dogs. She said I was the only person she knew who dealt with PTSD following a bout of illness. Most people move on. I still occasionally have flashbacks to my New Years Eve 2010 food poisoning.

When I told my friend Katie about Pawley’s PTSD, she said “I’m not going to have this conversation with you about a dog,” which, incidentally, is how approximately 95% of our conversations end.

Unfortunately, Pawley continued to be sick and so this morning I took her to the vet where they determined that it wasn’t any kind of stress disorder so much as Pawley having a parasite. Pawley has giardia. I looked this up and learned two important things: Giardia is easily contagious and Giardiasis is commonly called Beaver Fever. So, from now on I’ll be saying that Pawley has Beaver Fever because that sounds funnier.

Anyway, it’s safe to say that between this and me running her over with a car, I won’t be winning any pet parent of the year awards with Pawley. On the plus side, I am glad I don’t have to put her into canine therapy to work out her stress issues. Yet.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be reading about an unidentified person going postal at a lifestyle magazine in Charlotte, with the only identifying feature of the suspect being that she was carrying a large dachshund or possibly a small, short-haired pet buffalo in a bag at her side.”

- My brother never misses an opportunity to make fun of Rosie’s weight. Ever.