My dog is my child and I'm dating a plant

I have a dog, right? You know this. (And by "you" I mean "everyone".)

And we just moved to a new apartment.

And BY GOD I WILL NOT BE EVICTED FROM THIS ONE, BY ALL THAT IS HOLY, may Coco Chanel give me strength.

So, in addition to spending my life savings on a bark collar, which I did, and making him wear it all the time, which he does, and let me take this moment to say that he is SO ADORABLE, I am working on separation anxiety techniques, which I enforce on everyone else but not myself (especially my mother, who I really like to punish by forcibly reminding her that Titan is MY DOG NOW)...anyway, where was I? Right. I'm possessive about my dog, obessessed with his behavior and his GI tract and his poop, and protective of my training techniques, or lack thereof. Really. Tell me how to raise my dog, even lightly as a joke, and I will snarl at you, refuse to talk to you for hours, and break up with you.

Really. Even if I'm NOT dating you. Ask anyone. In fact, really do ask anyone, because I think I've dated almost everyone worth dating. Go on and ask the person next to you. Go ahead, I'll wait.

See what I mean?

Anyway. Moral of the story: DO NOT MENTION MY DOG AROUND ME, except to mention how adorable and well-behaved he is. And we'll be the best of friends.

Moving on: in fact, getting back to moving, I'm all by myself now in the apartment, which gives me a lot of time for...navel gazing. A lot of time. I stare at my own navel all the time. (Joke.) (Not funny.)

Uh...which means I obsess a lot, as in, more than I did before. And since there's a point at which I can't obsess about myself anymore--really, even I get bored of myself sometimes--guess who gets it?

Let's just say this: I own a plant now! Who is steadily withdrawing from me, and it's not even animate. That's how smothering I am. (Joking.) (But I really do have a plant. More on that later.)

But seriously folks, Titan gets the brunt of it, and although he doesn't yet seem to mind, I'm rapidly becoming that crazy lady on my block. Besides staring at his poop while trying to magically diving his state of health (the folks at the dog park think I'm really weird) I also stare at his butt when he walks, trying to determine how bad his hips hurt him. (Also, I've taken to starting at my own teeth in the mirror. I've become convinced that I'm losing gum tissue, and that MUST BE STOPPED.) (Total tangent.)

So, long story made longer, Titan is old, and he's developing that classic German Shepherd low-rider walk, where the butt sags a little like the poor dog's about to take a poop at any time, because the hips hurt too badly to straighten out. To say that this scares me is an understatement; I have nightmares about it. Intellectually, I know it's inevitable, but BY GODDESS I WILL OVERCOME SCIENCE. Paris Hilton give me strength. Because I have overpriced supplements from the purely natural organic dog food store (duh), and I am NOT AFRAID TO USE THEM.

On the vitamin bottle it says: "Add one tablespoon of liquid to dog's meal morning and evening."

Here's what they don't tell you: "Your dog will hate the taste of these vitamins and refuse to eat his dinner, driving you into a panic. You will wonder if you've turned him into a picky eater by giving him samples of fancier food. You will assume he has a GI bug and is about to throw up all over your (brand-new) carpet. You will stare at his poop even more than you already do. You will wonder, vaguely, about the cost of ripping out your brand-new carpet and applying pergo flooring instead, or if it'd be easier to cover the whole apartment in saran wrap instead. And while you wonder all this, your dog will quietly eat his dinner, and you'll notice four hours later."

They don't tell you that part.