Carol Baskins

Green-eyed Monster

I was walking Carol Baskins, when I bumped into my wife’s boss (the principal). “She really can’t wait to get Carol in her classroom,” the boss said. “She talks about it all the time.”

The wife has been spending most of her Wednesdays this fall taking Carol to class — getting her “Comfort Animal” certified. She has been buying hot dogs, and treat holders and new harnesses and leashes.

Sure, the wife is generally “driven.” Sure, she is a goal-oriented, A-type person who once she starts something it’s like opposing gravity to get her to stop. Sure, she can be as stubborn as a mule.

But this dog training thing seems different. She “on it” like Geno on a new goat. How does Calvin Klein whisper it… OBSESSION.

She has given up meals, sleep and “fun” to get this done. Carol has earned her certificates and goes for her “comfort test” in October.

But this principal thing made me think. “Jesus, she’s talking about this to anyone who will listen.” What exactly is motivating her to motivate this chiweenie?

  • Does she want the dog to be happy? Fuck no. The dog is happiest eating and sleeping.
  • Does she want to make me happy? No. She knows I don’t give a shit.
  • Does she thinks it will be fun for her kids? Most of them have their own dogs.

Finally, I landed on the solution. It’s jealousy.

That dog and me have a bond. She sleeps with me every night. She follows me around all day. She spends more time in my lap than the wife ever did.

I watch TV. Carol watches me. Jealousy. Jealousy…

But she’s not jealous of the way I feel about this mini-dog. She’s jealous that the dog loves me.

“No, no, it’s fine,” is how she started the denial. “I’m glad that you finally found something that loves you.”

Yeah, you heard right. 35 years of marriage, and I had to get a pandemic puppy to find something that could “love” me. Ohh well, at least this emotion is not spurring on a urge to kill — it takes the Investigation Discovery channel to do that.

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