These past seven days have been a lot. I hate when people say raising a puppy is like raising a baby; to me, it’s not the same and never will be. But spending the week with my sister's cockapoo really made me appreciate the peace and quiet our house normally holds and that I take for granted daily.

I’ll say it, if it was my dog, I would’ve returned her. Fortunately, she is in the best hands possible with my sister, who is capable of loving legitimately anything. This dog is simply way too much to handle. Her name is Luna and I’ve always said it has to be short for lunatic. She is more active than Usain Bolt, she doesn’t listen and gets into any and everything. 

So just when you think you’re going to leave for work, you better make sure every door is shut and every lid is closed because if not, every image you had of your house when you left will be shattered when you come home. Toilet paper will be streaking across the couch, every trash bag will be dug through, every room will have been explored, and the best part – as soon as you get home she’ll be waiting at the door with the biggest smile. I swear she has to be sarcastically laughing at me.

I will specifically tell her not to do things and she'll keep doing them anyway. For example, if she is scratching a door, I'll say, “No, Luna get down”, and she’ll look at me for three seconds as if to say, "OK, I understand," smile, and proceed to continue doing what you just asked her not to do. Not to mention any time she doesn’t get what she wants, she yelps. Not barks, yelps.


She is beyond cute, and loves to play, but for me, I just couldn’t put up with her for seven days. So the next time my sister flies away, she is staying elsewhere, whether it’s another friend's house or the kennel.

PS: The cherry on top was having another dog in the house all week long. Double the barking, double the mess, and double the trips outside, seeing they didn’t always get along.

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