Fur-parenting

Oh Lord. It's a cold Sunday morning, 6:48am. My fur-babies are whining to go out and I am terribly comfortable and warm in bed. When I cannot stand the high-pitched squeals any longer, I get up, let the puppies outside and meander around the kitchen.

And then the high-pitched squealing commences.

I give it a minute, praying it will stop, and when it doesn't, I peek out the back door. Tank (our youngest furchild) is producing this ungodly sound at the edge of our closed pool.

Then I hear the sounds and see the splashing.

Caly, our older fur-baby, is flailing frantically in the middle of the pool. It's 33 degrees outside. What else would a fur-mommy do?

In the pool I go to pull Caly out.

My heart was fighting the freezing water by beating 19740898575 MPH. Caly and I get out of the pool, inside and wrapped in blankets. She's shaking, I'm shaking, and I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life!

I call Romeo, then the vet, then my Mom, then Romeo again. Caly is warmed up by now, and running around chasing Tank.

Thank God.

I have never been more sure that I am not ready or prepared to be a parent! I have never been more thankful for Tank and his obnoxious whining! I have never been more overjoyed to be whipped with Caly's lethal tail!

Happy Sunday!

Now that I've finally tamed my heartrate, I can honestly say that for at least awhile, I'm going to be a very cautious fur-parent. My Mom told me that you have to let your babies figure things out on their own, and sometimes they're going to have to hurt themselves to figure it out.

Reason #49586920 to wait to have children.