Goddamn you, Rian. Get the FUCK out of my head.

So Rian Stone went ahead and did a thing.

I quoted him saying, “Ho. Lee. Shit.

Lots to read AND unpack here.

Rian, get the FUCK out of my head.”

And there is. At least for me, and if you are aware enough, there’s something in there for you.

Why do I NOT want the “goddamned dog?”

Because I’ve already been there.

When I first met my now ex-wife, she already had a dog from her previous marriage. In fact, while she was married to her ex-husband, they had two dogs. The dogs were a “couple.” When she decided to divorce that guy, they split up the “assets.” She got a dog, he got a dog.

Fast-forward to her and I dating.

She had a dog already.

I like dogs, don’t get me wrong. I like all animals.

But I really like cats more; it’s just me.

And the fact that cats are pretty self-reliant and self-sufficient.

For the most part, all you need to do is give them food, water, and a place to take a piss and shit, and they are good. If they want your attention and/or affection, they will let you know. You can leave a cat up to its own devices for 24 hours or more, and it’s fine. Dogs are a different story.

From my own personal experience, you can’t leave a dog alone for more than about 8 hours, give or take.

You need to feed them, water them, take them outside to take a piss and/or a shit, and you need to play with them and give them attention. We’ve bred them that way.

I laugh when guys talk about women being, “boxed wine and cat ladies.”

Oh no, no they are not.

Sure, the box wine is there. Personally, I’ve had boxed wine and it ain’t too bad.

But the “cat lady” trope? Nope.

Women have dogs far more often than cats. That’s been my dating and relating experience so far.

I don’t want to go too far “into the weeds” here. It’s actually not about cat vs dog and which one is better.

It’s what Rian wrote about.

When I met my ex-wife, she had a dog, and while we were first dating, she got a cat for the dog. “My dog needs a companion.” Those were her words. Now, understand this, my ex-wife loved animals in general, but she was a “dog person.” She had dogs far more often in her life than cats. But what did she get?

A cat.

I knew what she was doing. I saw it coming. And in the end, that cat was my cat and I was its person. Welcome to the world of Nermal and me. But this was back in the day when my ex-wife and I were not living together. Her cat, her dog, her problem. Not mine.

Until I chose to move her in.

Then it was a package deal. I “inherited” a dog and a cat. I knew this. I signed up for it. I was willing to go there. So I did.

I didn’t realize at the time that I would ultimately be the one who cared for the cat and the dog. I was the one who cleaned the litter box. I was the one who fed and watered them both. I was the one who played with them and showed them affection. I was the one that both animals “bonded” to ultimately.

Fast-forward another year and we now have another cat, even though I said, “We’re not getting another goddamn cat.” I’m ultimately glad that I have another goddamn cat, but in the beginning it was rough.

In the end, I divorced my now ex-wife and I “inherited” two goddamn cats.

I already wrote about Nermal and his end of life. Honestly, I don’t have it “in me” to go through that again, but I have to for Kabuki when it’s her time. I don’t have it in me, but I have to have it in me, for her.

And so I will, because I must do what must be done. But after that, I’m done.

No more pets, no more animals. I’m done. I’m over it. I don’t have it in me anymore. I can’t do it again. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tapped out. I’m calling “uncle.” I can’t.

Which brings me to some past relationships and situations.

My ex-girlfriend had a dog when I first met her. Her dog, her place, not my problem. Sure, the dog was fine. Great dog even. Not my problem. But there was no way in hell that I was going to move her in. Not with the dog. I understand the “package deal.” I wasn’t going to go there, and I never said that to her. It was my own personal decision, in my own mind. It just “was.”

She ended up giving her dog to her brother. It had nothing to do with me. It was her, looking at her life choices and her wants and needs, and the dog was “getting in the way” of those things.

It was better for the dog in the long run.

After she and I went our separate ways, I started dating again and found that the great majority of women were “dog women,” not “cat ladies.” Either way, I’m not moving them in. “Package deal” has a price that I’m no longer willing to pay.

The Belly Dancer has a dog, AND an adult child that still lives at home.

When I’m at her place, her dog is “my dog.” Those are her words, not mine. He comes to me, wants to be with me, wants to be around me, even when it comes to going outside to use the bathroom. He loves me as I love him. He’s a great dog. But he’s not my dog, he’s her dog. And I don’t have it in me. Not just for his eventual death, but for everything.

If I moved in with her, I know I would ultimately be the one to care for her dog. I would be the one to feed it, water it, take it outside to use the bathroom, play with it, and ultimately bond with it. I just can’t.

So I have two things in my life right now that are hard deal breakers, as far as cohabitation. No pets. No kids living at home. My ex-girlfriend had a dog. That’s fine. But it was a deal breaker as far as cohabitation for me. She gave up the dog, which had nothing to do with me, and then cohabitation became a possibility.

The Belly Dancer has a dog and an adult child at home. That’s fine, I get it. I can still date her and love her. But cohabitation is off of the table until both of those things change. Because I can’t. So while there’s pets and children under her roof, I won’t be, on a more permanent basis. (Nevermind who is moving to whom, that is entirely another story for another post.) This is one of my boundaries, and as Jack Napier has said, “Boundaries aren’t for her, they are for you.” And he’s right.

Rian’s story hits hard because I have been there, and I’ve seen it over and over again with other guys. He may have been writing a piece of “fiction,” but in fiction therein lies some truth, and it ain’t about the goddamn dog.

Sure, you can “step up” and be the “good husband” and “father.” Sure, you can take care of the goddamn dog. (And you will.) You can even be the one to bury it when that time comes. You can do a lot of things for the sake of your family and loved ones. You can make all sorts of sacrifices, up to and including, your life.

Just make sure why you are making those sacrifices, if and when you do.

Is being a “Good Husband,” and a “Good Dad” your reason? Or is it someone else’s reason? Stop and think about it for a moment. Is it what your community, society, and culture expect from you? Or did you actually come about to that decision all on your own? Are you trying to “break the chain” and not be your Dad? Or did you come about your decision because you looked into it and decided that it is, in fact, what you wanted?

Or are you the one who didn’t want the goddamn dog, but you ended up with the goddamn dog, which you ended up caring, loving, and nurturing it, and ultimately ended up burying it, but it started off as something that someone else wanted at that particular time?