I would never presume that having a puppy is the same as dealing with a human child. I didn't carry an alien in my belly for 9 months. I didn't go through the stress, the sickness, the hell of IVF. I didn't experience the bureaucracy, the waiting, the expense of adoption.
But - fuck me! - it's still hard.
And I broke this morning.
I found myself on my bed, Puppy Girl safely locked in the living room behind the puppy gate, calling Puppy Dog to me and hugging him, crying.
She had pooped on his cushion. Again.
I know that doesn't seem like a big deal. Some dog stain liquid and some Bounty and Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt. All cleaned up. But that wasn't it.
Flashback: Friday
I have an interview with the company I really, really, really, really, really want to work for. It's my second round of interviews with them.
The first was for one kind of job (I have three core skills) and I got through to face to face interview, but there was obviously a candidate who was a better fit. One shouldn't take this stuff personally. Also, someone passed my resume on internally for another role, so clearly they think I'd be an asset. Excellent.
So I've had a phone interview for Job No. 2, and it went well. Time for the face to face, with the Hiring Manager and her Boss Man. It's at 2pm.
I'm supposed to be prepping in the morning but, God, I'm tired. I read over old notes, I look up the people on LinkedIn and Facebook. Guess what, Boss Man has all his info locked down. No clues.
At about 10am, I talk to a present employee of the company - a friend of a friend - and he tells me what it's like to work there. This is about the 7th phone call I've had with people who work in all sorts of jobs at the firm. I do my research.
At about 10:30, a little thought pops into my head: "You're going to have to go to the vet before the interview."
Don't be ridiculous, I tell myself. Paranoia. Just focus on preparing.
And then, around 11:30, Puppy Girl runs in from outside, sits on her cushion and starts to cry. I have no idea why. I look her over and it seems like she squeals when I touch her left back paw. She keeps whimpering - on and on and on.
I call the vet. I tell them what is going on. I tell them about the interview. They tell me to come in, leave her with them and pick her up afterwards.
I have no time to shower. Can you believe that? I have no time to shower.
I throw makeup at my face, I drown my head in hairspray, I overdo the deodorant.
We head to the vet. He's a wonderful man and sees her almost right away. He looks, he prods, he shines lights. He doesn't find anything.
Maybe she ate something in the yard, he tells me. Go back and make sure you don't have anything toxic out there.
Yeah, sure, me who doesn't recognize any plant that isn't a rose.
So she stays with them, I go to the interview. My head is not in the game.
The Boss Man's arms are crossed and he fires questions at me:
"What are the three most important characteristics to be successful in this role?"
"What three things do you bring that other people don't?"
"Name the phases of project management."
"Name three key metrics we should be measuring."
I blather. All my answers are too long. I tell stories - he wants acronyms.
He tells me to ask him questions. I decide to play his game.
"What do you want the person in this role to achieve in the first 60-90 days?"
"What three things are your key challenges?"
"What is the ultimate goal of this team?"
His arms uncross. He even smiles. But then I ask him if there are any other questions he has for me, if there are any gaps I need to fill in.
"When I asked you about the project management phases," he says, " I expected you to say the five phases but you talked around it. You got there in the end, but you should have been able to name them."
Oh, fuck.
I tell him that my brain is half at the vet, and that I am very sorry.
I feel like I've lost him.
The second interview, with the Hiring Manager, goes very well. We get on even better in person than we did on the phone. But her Boss Man can overrule her, so I worry.
I go back to the vet to get Puppy Girl, relieved that the prognosis - and the invoice - is a lot better than I expected.
Never before have I experienced the need to juggle home and work like this. Puppy Dog needs to be walked every day, but we got him at 1 year old, and he just never needed as much time and attention as a puppy. And he didn't wake us up at night.
Flashback: Sunday
My friend Jean is visiting. We haven't seen each other in weeks. We talk, we have wine (not that much - you'll see why I'm saying this real soon), I make cheese and prosciutto grilled sandwiches.
Puppy Girl has to go potty. Again. I'm in the kitchen, wearing socks, holding her in my arms so she won't pee on the floor, trying to get my feet into my slip-on Birkenstocks.
She wriggles, I lose my balance, I fall onto my ass, twisting my ankle.
Oh, the indignity! And the pain.
I manage to get up, the evening progresses. Apart from trying to kill me, Puppy Girl has been sleeping almost all day.
Hah! I should have known.
She wakes me to potty at midnight.
She wakes me at 2am but then refuses to come out of her crate. She doesn't need to potty, she was just bitching because she wanted to be up on the bed.
She wakes me for potty at 4am.
She wakes me for potty just after 6am.
This is a major regression. She'd been sleeping through from midnight to 6am.
I give in, and put her on the bed. We make it through to 8:45 before she wakes me again.
So now I'm tired, and I have another interview - a phone one, thank God - with a firm I know very little about at 1pm.
And my brain is fried. Dipped in batter, sprinkled with seasoning and deep fried.
And then she pooped on Puppy Dog's cushion.
A big, smelly, round in a circle, turd.
Don't be fooled by that sweet little picture. That little pink tummy can make some revolting gases and solids.
So know you know the perilous journey that has led to this ship running aground on Breaking Point.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Sunday, November 1, 2009 at 4:45PM 
