Me and my old lady moved in together about a year ago, a nice little two-bedroom in midtown. She's from Maryland and has a Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Lady. I have an English bull terrier named Henry, so we split the pet deposit. We both love dogs, so everything was cool.
Then she brings home another Chessie, as they call these dogs, named Sprocket. He'd been rescued from the pound and she'd taken him in because she's a member of one of these rescue organizations dedicated to a single breed. Sprocket's gone now, because she found a home for him, but now we have three more Chessies.
These are four big, energetic, overgrown puppies in our little bitty apartment. They're tearing the place to pieces and freaking my dog out. Henry shakes all the time now because he's scared one of them horses is about to jump on him again. Every time she finds somebody to adopt one of these dogs, something always falls through. They don't have enough room or they work all the time or something. Her problem is, she don't want to give them up. When she gave up Sprocket, it almost killed her. She didn't go to work for a week.
Yesterday she called me and said she's bringing home another one. I lost my cool and went off on her over the phone. She said some stuff to me, too. We're ok now, but I still feel bad. I love her dogs. They're just too many of them and she won't get rid of any. Honest to God, I'm about to the point where I change the locks while she's taking her dogs for a walk.
In the Dog House
I'm a cat man, myself. Dogs are like children – nice to visit and play with, as long as you can go home when you've got them bouncing off the walls. Better to be an uncle than a daddy, if you know what I mean. I prefer both my human and animal companions to be fully capable of taking care of their own business. But I had dogs when I was a kid, so I'm not a cat snob. They just fit my lifestyle.
By my count you now have six medium-to-large size dogs living in your two-bedroom apartment. My guess is you're already in violation of your lease. If you don't do something, somebody else is going to change the locks while you're out for a walk. Either that or they're going to hit you with a pet fee that's going to price you right out of the place.
Your old lady sounds like her heart's in the right place. She just needs to get her head on straight. Talk some sense to her. Don't get mad about it, just lay out the facts. Sooner or later your landlord is going to get wind of your situation and boot your asses out. Y'all either need to get rid of some dogs or find a bigger place. Like, out in Marshall County somewhere.
In any case, if she can't give up her foster dogs, she needs to stop fostering dogs. She's living a lie. Tell her I said so.
Got a problem? Let Jack Waggon set you straight: firstname.lastname@example.org.