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Perfect. She didn’t know about the whole border collie thing. I was excited about not having to deal with all the dog drama anymore.
    Excited?
    Bam! Bam! Bam!
What in the hell was I doing!? How dumb could I get?
    It was horrible. I was trying to really play up how immature I was as a pet owner. I thought that if I had shared how painful it really was, deciding to move and figuring out what to do with him, it would have weakened the story.
    It was about telling a good story. Who needed to be a hero? How boring. Not boring when you’re living it but boring to hear about it. Though humanity does need heroes, it also needs demons to compare themselves to and realize what a hero they are. I’ve fought so hard against painting myself a hero I’m starting to wonder if I’m getting stuck in this idea of being an asshole that’s not the real story. Reality may be getting a little lopsided simply for the sake of making sure everybody knows that I win—I hated me first.
    I thought the best way to approach anything in my life that was the subject of failure—marriage, jobs, dog ownership—was to put all the responsibility on myself. That way I’d avoid lawsuits and bitch slaps at public appearances and family gatherings. Aren’twe supposed to bitch slap ourselves in order to grow? Not play the blame game?
    Perhaps the guilt I still feel about Carlos made me tell the story from the “greatest mistake from the biggest piece of shit on earth” viewpoint. I didn’t want to give myself an out. I wanted to be harsh and awful to myself so nobody else would do it. I’d simply rather not be trying to save myself for the sake of a good story. Why not be the antihero? Why not be the voice of the mistakes we have all made? There’s a lot of time to be gained by getting other people to kick your ass for you so you don’t have to, and I’m really busy. Some people are scared to admit they’ve done something wrong, and I’m scared to admit I’ve done something right.
    The woman, Liz, who was going to adopt him was on her way to pick him up. My husband at the time, Mathew, says he’s going to the hardware store.
    Just say “husband,” Lauren. Jesus, I’m over you. Where are the message boards so I can vent?
    And I’m, like, “You can’t go now.” I’m stressed getting him ready to get picked up. I’ve got to get his toys, his food, and his pillow that he would
sometimes
lie on.
    Mathew says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” and leaves. He’s gone forever. Liz shows up and I’m mad. Mathew did this on purpose. Maybe he was too emotional about it. So, Liz comes in and we gather up the stuff. I’m on point. I’ve got the pillow. Likes the chewy stuff. Here we go.
    We go out to the car and start to load up the back of the Subaru.
    The minute I put the pillow in the car, Carlos, the cat-poop-eating crazy dog, who was able to communicate only his most basic animal needs, turns into this incredibly wise, communicative animal. He had been faking dumb like Suzanne Somers playing Chrissy on
Three’s Company.
She acted dumb because it’s the part she had to play to make money and survive, but in reality she was capable of creating hormone therapy and machines that tone the hard-to-hit inner-thigh area.
    Carlos sits down on the ground next to the car and I swear to god, he gives me a “That’s odd. Why did you just put my pillow in her car?” look. He understands what’s going on.
    I start to cry, so hard. I’m sobbing. It’s embarrassing. Just sobbing. I can’t breathe or talk.
    Liz says, “Just go inside. Go inside. I’ll come back later and get his toys.”
    As they’re driving away, I see him looking at me through the window.
    Carlos was, according to Liz, a perfect dog. Once she changed his diet, he calmed right down and became so sweet and docile he