Pet Insurance and Pets In General

February 1, 2011 § 15 Comments

So I’ve been shopping around for new health insurance for myself and I found something I had not expected:

Pet Health Insurance.

Yes, there is such a thing as pet insurance……Yes, to insure your pet.

In addition to the hundreds of dollars you spend on pet food, pet brushes, pet shampoo, pet leashes, pet neutering, pet treats (“that’s a goooooood dog!”), not to mention the thousands of dollars in deodorizing your house by cleaning and changing the carpet frequently, and the hours a week you spend taking your pet on walks in the freezing winter air, taking your pet out to pee and poop on the grass (“sit, no-no, sit!! here, want a treat? sit, siiiiiiit, there, that’s a goooood dog!”), which you then have to pick up with a little doggie  baggie (shameful and despicable), you can also pay a premium of $100 a month, in case your dog ever jumps up onto your counter with his wet paws and eats an entire raw steak defrosting on your counter.* It is comforting to know that after cleaning up your dog’s barf and poop, which has exploded all over the kitchen floor and carpet and walls, you can take your sick dog into the vet, pay only a $35 co-payment fee, and then operate on his stomach, paying only a deductible of $2,500, and then only 20% of the remaining $10,000 operation costs. It’s after moments like that, that you think, “Thank goodness I had my pet insurance. I would have lost my pet.” Because I so badly want this pet?

Pet Insurance disgusts me because it implies that pets are worth insuring.

One time, when I was little, we got this cat named Nemo. Nemo was a wildcat, literally. He was the offspring of a romantic love affair between a domestic cat and a wildcat from the wilderness, or so we were told.

Anyway, Nemo was really cool at first. He was black and gray and white, with green eyes that never once showed love or care. But we all liked him, me, my  brothers and sisters. Even our cousins liked Nemo. But Nemo never warmed up to us. He never warmed up to the domestic life either. He was, in a sense, the 21st century woman: caged in the house, “away from his hopes and dreams.”

After years of unhappiness, Nemo broke loose and ran away from the household, only occasionally returning for food and to spray himself all over our kitchen counter. It was always the kitchen counter for some reason, but other places as well. We never knew what this spraying was–it wasn’t visible, but it was there. There are some things in life you can’t see, can’t touch, can’t explain really, but exist nonetheless, like faith, love, cat spray.

Sometimes Nemo would walk into the kitchen with thorns and thistles tangled in his fur. We tried  brushing and washing him a thousand times, but never ever could we get the oily knots out. So we stopped touching Nemo.

Other times, Nemo would walk into the kitchen with blood dripping down his face and chunks of fur ripped from his skull. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would wake up in my room all alone to the screeches of Nemo mating/eating other cats outside my bedroom window. At these moments, I would pray, “Oh, God, please please please protect me from Nemo!” I would have nightmares that Nemo, after devouring all the other cats in the neighborhood, would jump through my window and spray all over my face and then eat it.

Finally, we got rid of Nemo. But it took a very long time.

So then we got this wiener dog named Shadow, which we called Shadowfax, sometimes Shadowfaxy. Though he was supposedly “house trained,” he only pooped and peed inside the house. We would take him outside and wait 10, 20 minutes. “Come on, Shadowfaxy, Come on!” But he wouldn’t go. When we were sick with waiting, we took him back inside and he would run and poop in the corner. It was warmer for him, inside.

One time we left out this giant bag of Costco chocolate chips (my mom never bought treats, so we resorted to snacking on bittersweet  baking goods). They don’t even make bags that big anymore, it was like 15 pounds. Anyway, one morning I woke up to gagging. You read correctly. It was a Saturday morning and I was in high school and usually slept in till eleven, but after I realized what I was hearing, and what I was hearing was gagging, I shot up from my bed and found Shadowfax gagging and puking on my white blankets.

We all know that language is so freaking limited in representing an entire image or idea with something so pitiful as a word. This is old news. But there are literally no words, no signifiers to direct you to the images of horror that accumulated after catching Shadowfax barfing on my sheets. So I’ll need you to use your imaginations to go beyond these words I will now use:

I admit that I was cruel. I squeezed Shadowfax’s ribs in my hands and charged at the door, only to find a pile of black puke near the door, entwined in the strands of my cream colored shag carpet. “UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!” I yelled, then threw open the door. I chucked Shadow out, onto the woodfloored hall. I glared at him as he skulked away, only to then realize the watery piles of puke and barf smeared all down the hall.

Horrified, I stood and stared at the black puke and barf trail all down the hall. In the distance, I heard my mom scream from upstairs.  Then Dane. Then the other Brock children. Everyone was screaming at our house full of literal dog shi*. I followed the puke and barf through the dining room, up the stairs and all over our upstairs carpet, to where my mom ordered me and my brother to clean up the mess because we were the ones who had wanted the dog. Shadowfax had eaten the entire bag of chocolate chips. Shadowfax weighed less than the bag of chocolate chips. Which means, he ate, then crapped, then went back and ate more, then crapped and puked, then went back and ate more, then puked….etc., etc., freaking etc.

Dane and I bawled and gagged while we scrubbed our house of crap.

A few days later, our aunt walked into our house and said, “It smells like dog, guys.”

Right after that, we gave the dog to our other aunt, who for some reason, took it in.

Here is what I’m trying to say:

Sometimes I think I want an animal, a pet. The kind of pet I would want to pay pet insurance for, although I never would. One time, when I was like three, I really liked my dog, Poco Penny.** I hold onto this memory of my first dog, especially when I think I may want an animal to care for. But then I start thinking not only about spraying Nemo and crapping/puking Shadowfax, but also about Deak, that dog who ate and pooped out rocks, and Mose and Allie, the dogs who ate bunnies and barfed them up, or Phillip Kingston I and II, the fish Ryan bought who sat in their fish tanks and just pooped all over the rocks and then died a few days later. That was it. That was all they did. How could I ever love them?

_________________

*For Brock and Kristi

**My family wanted to name our first wiener dog Poco, but I wanted to name him Penny. My mom said Penny was a girls’ name, but it could still be Poco’s middle name, to which I half-heartedly consented. I believe we had him for a few months before we moved. It may have been longer, I’m not sure.

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§ 15 Responses to Pet Insurance and Pets In General

  • Matt says:

    I laughed so hard at this. Sounds like you’ve had terrible luck with pets.

  • Hahahaha. I feel like I know you’re family so much better now.

  • Scott Christofferson says:

    Truer words have never been written.

  • elyssa says:

    i’m dying over here. i used to think i was an “animal person,” but i’m finally realizing that the fact that all my friends in elementary school were horse girls does not remove the fact that for the 15 years that i had pets, i forgot to feed them at least four times a week.

    also, we have mating/cat-eating cats that do their dance every. single. night. right below our window. and a dog who coughvomits at the other window, all through the night, after eating copious dirtclods. i loooove it.

  • disa says:

    Such fond memories.

  • Darcee says:

    Oh my gosh I freaking love that post!! Just laughed my head off. First, I remember Nemo. Not a friendly cat, but we thought it was so cool. Is Nemo the cat you took home with you from Grandpa Perdue’s house?? I just remember you guys going home with one of their wild cats. Ha ha ha ha ha! So funny. They lived out in his shed.

    Second, I never want to eat chocolate chips again. The image of Dane and you cleaning up a house of barf is priceless and makes me laugh non-stop. I would have refused. I would have killed the cat. So gross.

    Thirdly, I hate animals!! Yuck. They smell and are gross. I am pretty sure the Perdue family had just as much luck with animals as yours did. With Abu we had to throw him bread just to get to the trampoline. He ran away and my mom knew he was at the pound, but we pretended he was not ours. Sad huh? Jasmine I liked, we took her to dog obedience school. Really? Dog obedience school? The instructor was trying to teach her not to bark at other dogs and used his dog to teach. His dog would bark and he would tell Jasmin not to. Dumb instructor, dogs bark at each other. So he kicked Jasmin when she would not listen, and Jasmin got tired of it and bit his croch!! Totally ripped his pants. My mom started bawling and he demanded we put Jasmin to sleep before he harmed one of us. I ran to the car crying and was so sad I couldn’t even get out to go potty. Yeah I peed my pants, just like a dog. Maybe I should have been in obedience school. I remember my mom putting Jasmin in the car and they put her to sleep. Never liked another dog.

    Our family has had about 5,000 cats. Only ones I cared about ran away or got run over by our own car. The ones I hated never left. One was possessed and pooped all over our house. He got put to sleep. Our last cat Tigger, has been around forever. We had to give her seizure medicine. For real… I witnessed her first seizure when I was getting ready for seminary. I freaked out. Scariest thing ever. My mom could not bring herself to just stop giving the medicine so she would die. They finally put her to sleep a few months ago. My mom could not take her because she felt so bad. My dad cried. Why do we hate animals so much, but cry when they go?? I do not know.

    I will never have animals. That much I know for sure!

  • Laila Escareno says:

    Funny thing, when you gave Shadow to us he never pooped or gagged all over the house…. but he did growl every time you guys would visit hahahaha

  • Cleve says:

    Of the approximately 9 pets that our family had – I secretly exterminated 5 of them. I have never told you, or your siblings, or your mom, or the police – until now.

    Dad

    • Dane Brock says:

      The only pets that we had that I liked were the fish that mom felt compelled to set free in our pond after watching the prison movie, shawshank redemption. The pet hating gene must come from the Brock side. But I guess mom forgot that it was an irrigation pond and they more than likely got sucked up the pump and splattered all over our field. I guess Mose and Alley were ok. If you consider ok to mean only attacking one pizza guy and only tipping over the garbage can and eating everything in it while spreading garbage all over the yard once a day. or only attacking me once a day when I fed them. They did, however, exterminate all the other annoying pets in the neighborhood so I guess in the grand scheme of things, it was worth cleaning up crap and garbage every day…right?

  • Dane Brock says:

    I guess I just can’t wait for the day when I’m with my future pet-wanting children, buying a little dog and having the worker ask me if I want insurance with it. I’ll whisper under my breath so my sweet little daughter won’t hear me say, “over…my…dead body, lady”

  • keishamarie says:

    i literally just laughed out loud until my stomach hurt for the entire shadowfax bit. hahaha. you’re right, words are so limited, but you did a pretty good job and illustrating the horror with them. hahaha

  • Lindsey C. says:

    I laughed REALLY hard during this blog. GENIUS. And, MY first dog when I was like 2 was named Poco!! Where did this name come from?? Weird.

    And, you still have things coming to you. I just forgot while writing that I am in the middle of my last semester of grad school, which, you know, is filled with stuff to do.

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