Shortly after returning from our honeymoon, my husband and I welcomed a puppy into our home. While she wasn’t a tiny newborn, Trixie was just a year old and quickly became the perfect companion for a young couple eager to nurture a pet. With her ability to perform tricks, being house-trained, and her undeniable cuteness, it was clear she was the right fit for us.
Trixie and I coexisted peacefully, but it was my husband, Mark, that she adored. From the moment he walked through the door, I became invisible. I was fine with that; we had an understanding. Trixie would patrol our home for any pesky bugs, and I would shower her with love and let her curl up at the foot of our bed. She became a cherished part of our family, eventually bonding with our two young boys. Three years ago, on a beautiful December afternoon, we had to bid farewell, laying her to rest beneath her favorite tree, right by the bird feeder.
Now that she’s gone, I sometimes reminisce about Trixie as though she were a perfectly obedient dog, but let me assure you, that is a nostalgic illusion. Trixie had her wild side, especially when she was younger and full of energy. Let’s just say she was a handful.
When my eldest son was about eighteen months old, Mark left for military training for eight months. During that time, my baby and I stayed with my best friend’s family, planning to purchase a home once Mark returned. With Mark away, Trixie saw me as less than a suitable substitute for her one true companion. Those months were her time to go rogue, as all rules were seemingly cast aside.
One lovely summer evening, I decided to treat Trixie to a car ride to my parent’s place. She loved the car, and despite her antics, I adored her. What could possibly go wrong?
As I prepared to leave, I felt like the perfect mom: adorable baby on my hip, a well-stocked diaper bag slung over my shoulder, and my devoted dog at my side. Who needed a leash? We were walking straight to the car, and Trixie was going to hop into the passenger seat, just like always. I was a confident, independent military spouse managing everything while Mark served. I felt empowered, humming, “I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman.”
But then, as soon as I opened the car door, Trixie spotted a neighbor with his dogs way down the street and decided that was the moment to ignore all her training. She darted off, barking like a lunatic.
The neighbor was walking a huge black pit bull and a fluffy little cocker spaniel. For a split second, I panicked; the cocker might be manageable, but that pit bull could easily take Trixie down. However, instead of reacting to my wild dog, the two well-behaved pets just sat calmly by their owner, staring at Trixie as if she were a bizarre sight. I guess well-trained dogs aren’t something I’m familiar with—I had Trixie.
With Trixie off on her escapade, I knew I had to chase after her, but I was still holding my baby. So, being the responsible mom I was, I literally plopped him into his car seat without buckling him and sprinted after my rebellious dog. He stood up immediately, watching out the window as his not-so-fit mom—who hadn’t run since high school gym class—took off in flip flops.
I was wearing a long t-shirt over leggings, which seemed like acceptable attire, except these leggings were from my pregnancy, and the elastic had definitely seen better days. Just a few steps into my pursuit, my pants began slipping down, tugging my underwear along for the ride.
So, to set the scene: a short-legged brindle mutt is barking like a maniac, charging toward a bewildered neighbor trying to walk his two model canines. Meanwhile, a not-so-svelte woman is clumsily chasing after her, trying to hold her pants up with one hand while clutching her diaper bag with the other, yelling, “She’s friendly! She got away from me! I’m so sorry! Trixie! Come back! Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!!!”
As if that wasn’t enough chaos, right at that moment, my husband called from his dorm. The ringtone blared from my diaper bag, a reggae jingle declaring, “It’s your husband, ooh yeah. Yes, your husband is trying to get through.”
In a strange twist of fate, Trixie had learned to associate that ridiculous jingle with Mark—the one person she felt she should obey. After what felt like an eternity of chasing her, she stopped in her tracks, turned around, and trotted back to the car as if nothing had happened, hopping in like a good girl.
Meanwhile, the neighbor was still a few houses away, carefully guiding his well-mannered dogs back home to avoid my completely out-of-control pet. I hurriedly buckled my baby, jumped into the car, and planned to drive away quickly to spare myself from the neighbor’s glare, maybe even delivering cookies and an apology note the next day.
Then it hit me—I had left my car keys inside.
So much for being a responsible adult. I hummed that empowering song a bit too soon. With a heavy heart, I trudged back into the house, only to run into the neighbor once more, mumbling another apology as I returned Mark’s call to inform him that his beloved dog had become quite the little troublemaker.
And of course, this all unfolded on August 26th—National Dog Day. Trixie may not have been perfect, but that mischievous mutt sure knew how to celebrate.
For more on navigating pet ownership and parenting, check out our other blog posts, like this one about home insemination kits or dive into the world of couples’ fertility journeys, an excellent resource for those exploring their options. If you’re curious about fertility insurance, this page is invaluable.
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In summary, my experience with Trixie was a whirlwind of humor and chaos, reminding me that life with pets is rarely dull. From her wild antics to the day my pants fell down while chasing her, Trixie brought joy and laughter into our home, leaving us with unforgettable memories.
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