My Dog Is Basically a Toddler… with Muscles and No Chill

 My Dog Is Basically a Toddler… with Muscles and No Chill

Let me introduce you to my child.
She’s almost 1 year old, loud, dramatic, doesn’t understand boundaries, destroys everything she touches, begs during dinner, and throws fits when she doesn’t get her way.

Her name is Gypsy, and she’s my pitbull.

Except she’s not a dog—she’s a toddler in a pitbull’s body with the emotional range of a soap opera character and the self-control of a gremlin after dark.


She Has a Bed. She Just Hates It.
Like any child, Gypsy needs a comfy place to sleep.
So I buy her a cute little bed. Plush. Soft. High reviews. Expensive.
She rips it apart in 10 minutes.
Then cries about not having a bed.
So, like a tired parent with more guilt than sense—I buy another one.
Repeat cycle.
She’s gone through more beds than a college freshman moving apartments.


Dinner Time = Talent Show
You know how toddlers act out for attention while you're trying to eat in peace?
Yeah. That.
Every time I sit down with food, she performs like I’m judging a pet talent competition.
She sits. Shakes paw. Lays down. Crawls.
All without being asked. Just dramatic flair and desperation.
Is she allowed table scraps? Not really.
Does she beg like her life depends on it? Absolutely.
It’s like dining with a furry street performer.



She’s a Professional Seat Thief
Leave your spot on the couch for half a second and you’ll return to find it… occupied.
By her.
Dead weight. Eyes closed. Already dreaming.
Try to move her and she goes full toddler-mode.
Completely limp. Emotionally manipulative.
I just end up sitting wherever she lets me.



We Talk. She Judges.
I talk to her like any normal exhausted parent talks to their overly dramatic kid.
“Why are you like this?”
She looks at me. Ears up. Head tilted. Absolute silence.
Like I’m the problem.
Sometimes she “talks back” with huffs, sighs, and weird noises that absolutely feel like attitude.
Other times she just stares like she’s thinking,
“Lady, you’re arguing with a dog.”


She Loves Surprises (Before Destroying Them)
Gypsy loves when we come home with shopping bags.
We let her dig in and find the toy or treat we picked out for her—like a toddler unwrapping presents at their birthday party.
Pure joy.
Fifteen minutes later, the toy is shredded, the treat is gone, and she’s looking at me like,
“What’s next, mom?”


In Conclusion:
Gypsy is not a pet.
She’s my full-time toddler.
She comes with chaos, destruction, neediness, and mood swings.
But also? So much love, ridiculous personality, and endless entertainment.

10/10 definitely recommend. 

If I made you laugh, cringe, or question your entire existence—consider tossing a tip my way.

Comments

Post a Comment

Drop your experiences below—because who doesn’t love a good ‘what the heck just happened’ moment, right?

Popular posts from this blog

Confessions of a Chronically Irritated Housewife

Image
Housewife means sleeping in until 8 a.m! Let’s just get one thing straight: I’m tired. I’m over it. And if one more person says “you just need a little self-care,” I’m going to throw a shoe at them. I’m a mom of three, wife to a man whose spirit animal is “I’ll do it later,” and caretaker to a zoo of pets including a tortoise who eats better than I do. I live in a house powered entirely by chaos, noise, and passive-aggressive sighs. My day starts somewhere between 6 and 8 a.m. (and yes, 8 a.m. is sleeping in—don’t test me). I’m up cooking breakfast, packing a lunch, feeding pets, walking the dog, and then maybe—maybe—I get to sit down for thirty seconds before someone wakes up in a bad mood and starts a pre-dawn war over cereal. I like people... conceptually. I can be social. I can be friendly. But don’t mistake that for endless patience. I can match your energy, sure. But if your energy is rude, I’ll match that too—with interest and a receipt. And can we talk about the “you’re kind of...
Read more

Daughters: Glitter, Drama, and Absolutely No Conditioner Left

Image
 Let me just say this: raising daughters is like living with tiny besties who might shank you for looking at them the wrong way during a hormonal thunderstorm. I’ve got two—ages 10 and 13—and while I love them with my whole heart, sometimes I swear I’m just a glorified chauffeur, therapist, and shampoo supplier. You are my wildest hope, my fiercest pride, and the reason I believe in magic. The Best Part? Built-in Girl Gang. Honestly, having daughters means I always have a partner-in-crime for last minute Walmart runs, lunch dates, and spontaneous “let’s get our nails done because we survived another Monday” therapy sessions. They’re mini versions of emotional support humans—until they’re not. Sisters or Frenemies? Yes. They don’t argue with each other much—probably because they’re too busy tag-teaming arguments with their brother . Sometimes they’re BFFs, planning adventures and giggling over secret jokes. Other times, my oldest slips into full “mom mode” and starts scolding her yo...
Read more

Welcome to My Brain: A Place No One Asked to Visit

Image
 Hi. I’m not here to inspire you, change your life, or sell you a course on how to manifest inner peace using moon water. I’m just here to say things out loud that most people only whisper in their minds. This blog is for the ones who are chronically irritated — not in a rage monster kind of way, but in a “why is everything kind of stupid lately?” kind of way. I’m sarcastic, honest, occasionally kind, and often confused by society in general. Expect a mix of things I love, things I hate, and things I pretend not to care about but maybe secretly do. Today, we’re starting with a few mild irritations, just to set the mood: ●People who respond to serious texts with “lol” Oh good, I was hoping my emotional crisis would be treated like a stand-up set. ●Bluetooth devices that never connect when you need them But sure, randomly sync to my neighbor’s speaker at 3 a.m. again. That’s cool. ●When someone says “you look tired” Thanks, Janet. So do you. But I’m polite enough to lie about it. ●Ap...
Read more