Thursday, September 07, 2006

I can't get to sleep...I think about the implications

Awhile ago I talked about my proclivity towards extrapolation. In spite of acknowledging this about myself, when the extrapolation train comes barreling at me, there is little I can do to stop its passage.

Last night at about 1:50am I woke up to Gatsby trying to crawl into bed with me. This meant that he had somehow escaped from his kennel, and I had a sinking feeling that he had finished tearing a hole in the side of it by the zipper. I brought him back downstairs and not only had he done just that, but he had also pooped on the floor, something he also did yesterday morning before I left for school.

I duct taped the hole shut from both sides, and shoved Gatsby back into his kennel while scolding him. He was scared because of my voice--I was quite pissed--and then I went back to bed.

While I was doing this, Extrapolation came with both guns blazing.

I laid in bed and thought about how Gatsby should be potty trained by now and why is he still having accidents? It's poor training, which means that I've failed in spite of my reading book and attending obedience classes. Gatsby can sit, he can come when I call him, but he still shits on the living room floor. I start to think that I'm going to have "one of those dogs" that poops and pees everywhere and that eventually I'll have to get rid of him because he'll become too difficult to handle. My little baby Gatsby. This makes me cry.

So it's 2am and I'm crying in bed. And I'm tired and stressed out from the first week of school, so the tears are alligator style and are best kept to oneself.

Then, I hear Gatsby rustling so I go to yell at him again to go to sleep. I wonder why it's so hard for him to go to sleep. Never mind that I'm at school for nine hours, and he's used to having me around all day, that he's used to ONLY being in his kennel at night, so when he's there while I'm at work he thinks he's serving his eight hours and that when I let him out he's out for good...never mind all that.

Instead of thinking logically, I start to think of how I will raise my non-existent children. If I can't discipline and potty train a dog properly, what chance do I have with kids? And I see the results of bad parenting every day. I don't want to be a bad parent. But what choice do I have? I'm a pushover. I hate it when people and animals are hurt--even emotionally--and this will lead to my children running all over me and I'll have those kids that beat up their parents and kill them for a non-existent inheritance.

At 3:30 I went back down to Gatsby's kennel and brought him upstairs with me. Only when I put him in bed did I notice that he had messed with the duct tape and had gotten a piece wrapped completely around his paw. I eased it off and he sighed and went to sleep at the end of my bed.

I don't get what I'm doing wrong. He is supposed to be potty trained by now, right? What am I missing?

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