I love my mother's dog, and I'll do my very best to look after her. But there are lots of times -- not least when she may have been the reason Mum fell and broke her leg -- when I could absolutely 100% do without the extra hassle of having two to look after.
Ok, the dog gives as well as takes, but if I never see another bit of dog poo it'll be too soon.
And it's very hard to know how much food Mum's rejecting if the dog's constantly on the prowl. I could definitely do without the vet's bills as well, now she's older and creakier. I don't begrudge budgeting for deterioration, but getting from one day to the next gets harder and harder with dementia and I -- as carer for both -- sometimes long for life to be a little less hairy and muddy and sometimes smelly.
I feel bad even typing this though. It feels so selfish to analyse pet ownership so coldly, but you have to be rational sometimes. The other day our dog went nosing around a pile of washing I brought back from the hospital. I thought it was lovely; she clearly missed Mum.
Then I realised she was licking the dried on custard Mum had spat out onto the towel. Dogs are survivalists... those big eyes and waggy tails look like one thing, but it's just an elaborate way of getting fed and looked after. They sacrifice the freedom their wolfy ancestors had and gain the life of Riley.
"We have got a doggy with a very sniffy nose,
No crumb is missed, no bum unsniffed, wherever our dog goes,
Her nose is into everything, inhaling every whiff,
Each scent is the equivalent, of a doggy hieroglyph!
Oh, everybody knows that a dog's nose goes, in many unsavoury places,
Inside your shoes, in piles of poos, and then in people's faces,
So you might want to think, what kind of stink, a doggy's been involved in,
Before you let that doggy lick, the child that you are holdin'!"