House Breaking.

3 Feb

Hello all. It’s been a long time. Perhaps not long enough.

I brought Alan home last weekend when I visited. I had not told my parents about him for the simple reason that they would have shot me on site. I figured the cuteness/shock factor would be best. Fortunately for me, my father was out of town Friday night, leaving me with just my mother to woo with the cuteness of Al “I eat my own shit” an.

Mike, Amy, Jeff and I pull up to my house, and start unloading our baggage. Meanwhile, Alan is puttering around behind the car on the pavement. I see my mom through the window. She scurries to the front door to rush out and greet me. “QUICK! HIDE ALAN!”

Mike panics, and quickly picks Alan up. “Where do I put him!??!”

We toss him in the trunk of the car.

My mom rushes over to say hello, and I make a few seconds of small talk before revealing to her that I had brought a “surprise.” I pull Alan out of the trunk and show her. She becomes red in the face and very angry, and starts howling, “That dog is NOT coming in this house! NO!” and runs away from the car, into the house, and locks me out. Richard unlocks the door and I bring Alan in. My mom continues hollering about how the dog is NOT staying in our house, and that he cannot so much as put a single paw on the hardwood floor; he must stay in his kennel, OUTside. She refuses to even look at him.

I become very angry with her violent, negative response to Alan. Mike and Amy leave, and I am left with a fuming mother. We start eating dinner. The kitchen is completely silent. The only things to be heard are the clinking of silverware on dishes. I grab the TV remote and blast Disney at an unreasonable decibel to break the silence. My mom gives me the silent treatment for a solid 30 minutes or so.

Some time later, I am cuddling with Alan. My mom saunters into the kitchen, trying to act disinterested. Fortunately, Alan is quite possibly THE cutest dog known to canine-kind, and before I know it, Mom approaches slowly and asks to hold him.

Twice.

Within 20 seconds, she is praising him and telling him how cute he is, and I am taking pictures of her with the puppy in her arms. I have won the battle. She is in love. I leave to go bring my belongings up to my room, and when I return to the kitchen, my mom is now rocking Alan in her arms in the rocking chair. Yesss.

The phone rings. It’s my dad. “MOM, don’t tell him!! He’s gonna be so mad,” I beg. My mom states that it’s better that she tells him now so he can absorb it before he comes home the next day. She gets off the phone. “He’s really angry.”

Great. But with mom on my side, things can’t get too bad.

The day is spent playing with Alan. My mom is 100% Pro-Puppy at this point. Later in the evening, Mom, Laurel and I leave to pick up my dad at the airport. I am very afraid. Before arriving, I text him and ask him not to yell at me, because I already realize the irresponsibility of my gigantic impulse buy that is the Welsh Corgi. He does not respond. We pick him up, and dance around the subject for a bit. Soon enough, Mom starts making “dog soup” jokes, and Dad joins in. A little awkward at first, but no negativity was expressed, so things were going good. We go out to eat, and return home to introduce Pa to Alan.

Within 30 seconds, Dad is laying on the floor face to face with Alan, blowing in his ears and making him bark like a little demon. Dad is in love. He spends the rest of the evening playing with him and offering to take him outside to use the bathroom.

The next day, my dad starts spitting out information about Welsh Corgis, informing me that he has looked up some information about them online. So now not only is my dad accepting of Alan, but he is overly interested. Things could not be going any better.

House training had been going surprisingly well at my house, which is a big 180 from the apartment up at school, seeing as we aren’t around enough to properly house break him. Sunday before I leave, my mom offers to keep him until Halloween and house train him. So now, not only have I gotten mom to like him, dad to like him, both to LOVE him and join in on taking care of him, but now they want to KEEP him for a while. I love how everything works out in my favor.

So Alan is at my house for the week. Updates tell me he is doing very well with going potty outside, and he has also learned to shake. I’m thrilled. I miss the little fag.

In other news, I haven’t been drunk in 12 days. I had a midterm on Monday in Survey of Film. I think I did pretty good; I’d say a 50%. I have another midterm tomorrow, and I am drinking immediately afterward. That time being 1:05 p.m. I will be drunk in Sex & Pop Culture and then Creative Writing which goes until 5:45. Yeeeeaaah. I’m drowning in the likes of alcohol tomorrow, kids.

“S’MORE, KEHLY. S’MORE.”

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