Clyde grew up homeless. He’s a 100-pound, 2-year-old St. Bernard mix. He’s my foster dog. His previous owner is currently in a half-way house. And Clyde is with me and my fiance.

Clyde was never taught not to mouth. So if you can imagine a 100-pound dog wrapping his teeth around your arm, it’s a little unnerving. He also likes to jump on you, which can easily knock you to the ground. He wasn’t house broken. My couch can testify to that. He is so big, he runs into everything. So we’ve nick named “Collide”. And he has separation anxiety, where if you leave him alone he barks and howls, for hours until you return. Did I mention he’s cross-eyed?

I wanted a puppy. I wanted a puppy because puppies are cute. This is a special provision in evolution to make puppies cute, so when they pee on your couch and chew your lamp – you can’t kill them because they’re just SO CUTE.

Clyde is not a puppy. Clyde is not cute. Did I mention he’s cross-eyed?

Because we live in LA, Clyde has his own personal trainer. She suggested anti-anxiety medication to stop the barking. We got him a prescription. So now the owner is in rehab and the dog is on drugs. Then we got a collar that would spray him with foul tasting herbs when he barked. He barked so much it broke the collar. Then his personal trainer said we should crate train him. I only buy cage free eggs, but I am more than willing to crate train a dog. Then he learned how to escape from the cage.

“I can’t take anymore, Kelly.” I said to his personal trainer.

“How long has it been?” she asked.

“Three weeks.”

“That’s not very long.”

“Oh yeah? That’s 9-months in dog years!”

I’ve told this story to friends and complete strangers have interrupted to give me advice. “Don’t put him on drugs, give him a bone. Dogs love bones and then he won’t bark.”

“Wow, it sounds like you really have a way with animals – you want to take him?”

“No”

“Okay, Unsolicited, let me and my doped up dog be.”

Last week I got a message passed down to me from Clyde’s owner. He said I could give the dog away. So, if anyone wants a drug-dependent, previously homeless 2-year-old St. Bernard mutt, you’ll probably have to fight me for him. Because love is not only blind, it’s apparently cross-eyed too.