Having even a well behaved dog in the house is incredibly more demanding than living with a cat.
We are dog sitting for neighbors and decided that the poor dog is probably quite lonely. He is used to staying at home alone, but hasn’t had any company for a week except for the walks we give him. After picking up all the Cheerios and Battleship pieces and bits of trash, we brought him over for the afternoon. Even still, he rooted out a piece of crust in a hidden corner and I think he licked up a spot of dried milk on the kitchen floor. We could probably feed a dog without even buying dog food or giving him scraps on purpose. It was a great afternoon though, so great, in fact, that we let him stay for the evening as well. And stay he did, right at our heels.
My husband has a romanticized notion of owning a dog, a big one, like a Newfoundland hound. He would be a big fluffy pillow and never stink up the house and never need more exercise than we wanted to give him. We all would like that dog, and every now and again talk about getting one. Then we think about walking him in over a foot of snow 3 times a day or trying to figure out what to do with him when we got on vacation for a couple of weeks.
My sweet husband was not home today when we had our fluffball over. The first thing he said when he walked in was… “What on earth is that smell?”
I guess that’s the end of that.