So, she comes to me one day and lets me know her best friend's family is going to take the puppy to the pound. They already have two dogs. A third is just too much. I have two children who I've already potty trained. I did not like it. Not at all like Sam I Am who just hadn't tried it. If you've never had to clean poop then consider yourself damn lucky. If you've never been peed on, again, consider yourself lucky. I have and didn't want to relive this experience. Plus, I remember as a kid the puppies we had and how they whined.
It should come as no surprise, I said hell no.
Cue the long face for two days.
Now my DD doesn't do the long face. My son is the boy who cried wolf. He wears it just because. In case he needs it for candy/staying outside longer/just because. DD does not, but she wore it for two days straight and I remembered seeing this puppy. I know of the gas chambers an unwanted puppy will face.
I knew of all that I'd have to face if I took in said puppy.
So...I gave DD a twenty-four hour trial. She could see how things played out for a day. See how things went when puppy whined and pooped and peed on everything. How he'd eat everything and then throw it up because it screwed with his stomach. I’d let her see the responsibility of puppy-rearing. The early morning walks to take him outside so he wouldn't poop in the house. The feedings. The whining. I was steadfast in my stance I wouldn't care one way or another if this puppy ended up in the pound. I was not an animal lover.
Sigh. Touch my puppy and you will fucking die.
Say hi to Rocko. (Yes, as in Rocko's Modern Life.)