We thought we’d learned our lesson with Chester, the grumpy old beagle. But then we needed to get Oliver, my therapy dog. So lesson-learned turned into lesson-forgotten.
And once you get a dog, you have to keep it.
(I mean, I understand that sometimes it’s impossible. Like if you adopt a dog and then realize your throat starts to close up every time you’re around it, that’s something to consider. Or if your landlord threatens to evict you… I get it. But if it’s just that you realize they poop a lot? Not a good reason.)
Because when you get a dog, you’re committing to care for it. JESUS wants you keep that dog, because he made people to be caretakers of the earth and animals (but hopefully not plants, because I always kill plants on accident). And dogs are people too (not really), and they have feelings (really). And if they get ditched, they are sad and confused.
So dogs are for life.
But they are annoying. Because of them, we had to get a new garbage can.
What we used to have was the kind with the swinging top. And I wasn’t in love with it or anything. Because it always swung shut just as you were dumping the coffee grounds in, and then you’d end up with grounds on the lid, on the floor, in your shoes, etc. And the kids only half-heartedly pushed it open as they threw away the foil from the tops of their yogurts. So there were always yogurt foils stuck to the lid.
Basically all the garbage was on the lid instead of in the garbage can.
So it wasn’t the garbage can of our dreams. But when I go to the store, there a lot of things on my list before buying something new to throw waste into.
Chester, the beagle, had become pretty adept at swiping stuff out of this trash can. But he tried to be subtle. If we weren’t looking, he’d poke his nose in and quickly sneak something off the top of the garbage pile.
But lately… Lately, he’d lost even the hint of subterfuge. Also, apparently his neck had grown 3 sizes longer. Because I started to find pieces of garbage strewn around the house when the can was barely half full.
Oliver, the Yorkie, loved it. He was too short to get in the can himself, but he was happy to take the remnants of anything Chester pulled out. For all I know, he was egging Chester on. I just kept picking up garbage and dealing.
Chester got a diaper. A poopy one.
That was the last straw. I mean, I don’t know what that stuff in diapers is, but it’s awful. Like little gel-balls of sticky evil. You can’t vacuum it up. You can’t wipe it up. I don’t even know…
So I told Chris that it was time for a new trash can. One with a foot peddle to lift the lid. I highly doubt that Chester can figure out how to get into that.
If he does, I’m sure you’ll hear about it.