I’ve had my dog for 10 years; Rosko, The Roktopus, Rokko, Roskolini. I’ve taken 2 million pictures of him over that time. I’ve also attempted multiple training methods, all failing miserably. He loves me unconditionally, and I can no longer say I feel the same way.
*Cue angry yelling, I’m a horrible dog-mom insults here*
Go ahead, throw ’em at me.
Many moons ago, people would tell me, “you love your dog now, but just wait until you have a baby”. I would scoff at this and think, how could I ever stop loving this little ball of fluff?!
And then, it happened.
The real baby arrived. Not the furbaby. The real, human, I-made-this-in-my-body-baby. Initially it wasn’t so bad; we were on cloud 9, and Tyler was home for the first 6 weeks, so I had help. I took care of the baby, Tyler took care of me and Rosko (arguably, a more tedious job).
Rosko did NOT love Callahan. His feelings were instantly apparent. When Rosko greeted us at the door, Callahan screaming in his car seat at Rosko’s level, you could see the butt-puckering moment he knew life had changed. That night was an awful one, with so much crying, and sweating (ok, maybe I was the only one sweating). When we woke up the next day, Rosko looked his 9 years. Up to that point he had always looked like a well maintained Hollywood celebrity. You know the ones that are 60 but look 30? He no longer looked like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, and more like a Lindsay Lohan mugshot. It was astounding.
Rosko spent his time trying to be on me, but not touching Callahan. Since I was breastfeeding Callahan basically 24/7 this was impossible and annoying as shit. Suddenly, I no longer loved my dog. It was like a light switch. It didn’t happen the first day, or even the second. But it seemed like overnight; maybe once the fatigue had built up enough and it was decisive.
Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Way.
Why was he so close to me? Why won’t he stop barking?! Why won’t he stop whining? Why does he need to go outside to pee? Why won’t he just go and sit with Tyler? How can he not figure out the baby is sleeping?!
I wasn’t diagnosed with any form of postpartum depression, but I think I was depressed (related to cabin fever in our tiny condo, winter, being fat, and overwhelmed) and my depression came out as unadulterated rage. I fucking hated that dog. He wasn’t doing anything different than he had in the last 9 years of his life, but I was done. All my frustrations about anything came out and were now about the dog. How can he be this old and this dumb?! How can none of our training ever kicked in?! YOU ARE 9 YEARS OLD WHY HAVEN’T YOU FIGURED IT OUT?! WHY WON’T YOU SHUT UP?! JUST GO LIE DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!
Tyler also received some misplaced anger from me too, (WHY ARE YOU CHEWING SO LOUD!?) but nothing to the extreme rage I felt having to deal with Rosko.
The first incident that made me think Rosko had to leave, was when I was trying to take him for a pee. I had strapped Callahan into the baby carrier on my chest and was yelling at the dog to sit still. Instead he was jumping around like a fucking maniac and whining the most annoying high pitch sound you’ve ever heard. I couldn’t see him over Callahan, and was struggling to bend down to him. So I stepped forward, unclear as to Rosko’s location and kicked him, sending him sliding into the leg of the crib.
*I should say here, it was less of a kick, and more like my foot went under his belly and lifted him in a forwards/upwards/stepping motion. There was nothing kicky about it. I would NEVER kick my dog!
His ribs hit the crib, and he let out a little yelp, but he jumped back up and seemed fine. I took him for his pee and brought him back inside. I headed out of the house for a couple hours and when I got back, Rosko would not leave his bed. When I eventually coaxed him out, he moved tenderly, and yelped when I went to pick him up.
Cue hormonal new mother guilt.
I decided to bring him to Thanksgiving dinner the next day so my sisters could give him some lovin’s. I had a feeling he was fine, and was just milking it. When we arrived and I explained what happened, I was ridiculed, read the riot act, villianized. Then Rosko got a piece of turkey (I never give him human food, but I was feeling pretty guilty) and suddenly he perked up. He RAN to some more dropped food…. of course no one saw this. So my sister took him home with her for a week to give us all a break from one another. When she arrived home, he ran up the stairs like a spring chicken. He had been playing all of us. That furry little asshole.
The second and deciding factor was a few weeks later, when after struggling to get Callahan down for a nap (like several hours struggling) Rosko decided to start barking 20 minutes into the nap and wouldn’t stop, of course, waking Callahan. This day almost broke me.
For the next few months, until things started to settle down (uncontrollable rage), Rosko bounced around between my in-law’s, my sister, and my grandparents. Once the snow melted a bit, we brought Rosko back home and other than a couple days here and there (when you can tell he needs the break from Callahan) he’s been at home with us.
I don’t hate my dog, the rage I felt towards him has lessened to a mild irritation that can flare up when he misbehaves. I watch now, as Callahan torments him and they play fight over that disgusting piggy; and my rage subsides more, I like him again. Only because Callahan LOVES him. He still drives me batshit crazy and I can’t guarantee I’ll be getting another dog once he passes. Which is saying something. I love dogs. I’ve always had a dog. I want Callahan and our future kids to grow up with one. But I think, maybe I’ll wait until after I’m done having tiny little babies and the hormonal roller coaster that comes with it.
Dogs are truly amazing. Rosko took the brunt of my anger and emotions, and still loses his mind when he sees me. I screamed at him until I cried, and he took it. Maybe he’s smarter than we think, and he knew it was yelling at him, or yelling at the baby. I’m going to go with that, because the only other option is that he’s dumb as fuck.