Jonathan Meyer.

Let me preface this story by saying: I am no hater of animals. I love animals and generally live with a deep respect for all creatures. That being said, I do not take well to surprises, I can and will hold a grudge, and I like things in order. Now that I’ve made myself sound completely unhinged, here’s my puppy predicament.

A few weeks ago, I noticed my mom and sister repeatedly darting off to “go see the puppies.” I wouldn’t call this normal behavior, but I know my mother LOVES animals. She’s what we call a “horse girl” from back in the ’90s. For as long as I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Kristi Meyer, she’s been head-over-heels for anything with four legs.

I’d be sitting on the couch, and suddenly, in a blur, both of them would be out the door. All I’d hear was a quick, “Going to see the puppies!” and off they went. With my excellent powers of foresight, I knew my peaceful life on 12th Street was coming to an end.

The nauseous pit in my stomach wasn’t eased by memories of how we acquired our current beloved family dog, Bailey. She is now my pride and joy–but that’s not how things started.

Flash back to 2018. A younger Jonathan, just about to enter high school, watched his family fall in love with a puppy he did not want. Knowing that my aunt had a fresh litter of yellow labs was the first warning sign. It almost felt like the trip to northeast Iowa was engineered to scout out potential recruits. After a few visits–and thanks to the friends and family discount (the dog was free)–we brought Bailey home. Much to my chagrin.

Being the sharp-tongued thirteen-year-old I was, I made sure to complicate the process and ridicule the decision. I could’ve gotten the Pope to curse at me on that first car ride home. Bailey wasn’t my favorite at first, but the name I suggested ended up being the winner. After twenty minutes of rejecting all the other names for sounding like they belonged to Vegas showgirls, I could live with Bailey. That moment marked the beginning of my slow, reluctant acceptance of the dog I now genuinely love.

But back to my current puppy predicament. And you guessed it–we have another dog in the house. I won’t say “in the family,” because I don’t claim it. To be quite honest, I don’t know what breed it is, and I don’t know where it came from. I also wish I didn’t know its name. But I do. It’s Lucy. Why Lucy? Couldn’t tell you.

I got the news from my dad while sitting in Pancheros, mid-burrito. He tried to soften the blow with a delicious, authentic Iowan burrito. It was still tasty–but not comforting.

To make matters even better, my sister decided she needed a puppy too. So when I walked into the house that night, not one, but two puppies were tearing around the hardwood floor.

I’ve heard that ridicule is a form of flattery. I’m not so sure. I’ve made it a point to be honest with these new dogs. I shower Bailey, my pride and joy, with praise, while making sure Lucy and Minnie (yes, the other one’s name is Minnie) get a solid dose of side-eye and sass. Nothing cruel–just enough that they know I didn’t ask for this.

Now that I’ve made myself sound like a complete psychopath over a couple of puppies, what’s the point of all this? I don’t really know. I’m mostly just venting.

If there’s a message, maybe it’s: “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Or maybe it’s: “It’s okay to hold a grudge–as long as you’re stubborn enough to maintain it for years.”

Until my next petty puppy-palooza pest predicament, I’m just Jonathan.