Bad Habits (13 page)

“Well, hurry up and think quick. Christmas is a few weeks away and none of us got anything for Mom and Dad.”

“Let me think, let me think … Hmm … Got it!”

D
ing-dong
. An old lady opened her front door and smiled. JoJo, Amy, and I began singing, “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year.”

I then held out my hand. The old lady smiled with delight and shouted, “Christmas carolers! Let me get you some money.”

My sisters and I high-fived each other as the old lady came back with her purse. She dug inside for a good minute and handed me a quarter. “Merry Christmas, girls!” she exclaimed, and then shut the door.

“It’s going to take us forever to make money,” Amy said.

“Well then, let’s start moving,” I said.

Ding-dong
.

“Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows. All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names. They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games. Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say, ‘Rudolph, with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

“Oh, girls, thank you for that song. You are such sweet carolers. Merry Christmas!” And she closed the door.

“She totally stiffed us!” said JoJo.

Ding-dong
.

“You know Dancer and Prancer … um …”

Amy tried to cover the confusion. “Donner and Blitzen, Comet and Cupid and … um …”

SLAM
.

“Shit,” I whispered.

We hit about thirty more homes and counted five bucks. Amy and JoJo were losing steam and bitching like brats.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Amy said.

JoJo joined in. “My toes are frozen. It’s like thirty below outside.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “It’s, like, five degrees outside.”

I went to the next house and walked up the stairs. My shivering finger hit the doorbell and a man answered.

“O holy night …”

I was waiting for my sisters to chime in with me, but I heard nothing. I turned around and saw that they had completely ditched me. I turned back around, realizing I was doing a solo performance.

“… the stars are brightly shining …”

SLAM
.

“Damn it!” I whispered. I couldn’t believe my sisters ditched me.

My voice is pretty awful by myself, but I was determined to make quick tax-free cash without doing anything illegal anymore. So off I went to the next house.

Ding-dong
.

“Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let Earth receive her King …”

“Darling, how old are you?” asked this adorably sweet lady. I was afraid to answer her, because how many twenty-year-olds hustle the neighborhood singing songs for cash by themselves?

I was sure as shit the answer was none.

“Um, I’m twenty,” I said in the softest voice possible.

“It’s thirty below zero outside. Why don’t you get a job indoors?” she asked.

“I need to make some quick cash to buy my parents Christmas presents,” I said with the utmost honesty. “I don’t really have time to job hunt, fill out applications, et cetera.”

“That is so sweet of you, dear. So this isn’t for a boyfriend?”

I laughed. “The only man worth me freezing my butt off for is my dad. I love him. He’s the hardest-working guy I know.”

“Hold on a sec.” She left and came back with a twenty. “Hope you get them something wonderful!”

“Oh my God. Thank you so much. You have no idea how grateful I am! Do you want me to sing you another song?”

“No!” She giggled.

I laughed, thanked her again, and followed it with a “Merry Christmas!” I Christmas caroled by myself every day for eight days. I made $250. I had at least fifty doors slammed in my face, one person threatened to call the police, and one offered me an extra ten bucks if I sang and shook my ass back and forth. Of course I obliged.

On Christmas night, we all sat around the tree, and I felt so good handing my parents a gift I know they deserved.

My mom opened the envelope and read it out loud. “‘The last time you both went alone somewhere was your honeymoon. Here is one night free at the Love Shack Inn to get your freak on, but don’t make any more babies. We can’t afford them. Merry Christmas. I love you. Jenny.’”

“Wow, Jenny, that is so thoughtful. How did you pay for this?” my mom asked.

Amy said, “The idiot Christmas caroled for eight days.”

My mom and dad started laughing. Then my mom said to me, “Jenny, you have always amazed me with your clever ways to make money. You kill me.” They both got up and hugged me.

They had no idea just how clever I was about to get.

Our family dog was named Pickles. She was a mutt with scraggly black hair. If Pickles were a person, she would totally be Janeane Garofalo.

Living in a house with four little girls, Pickles had to endure getting dressed up in gowns and wigs for years. We loved her and treated her like a fifth sister.

When I was about ten years old, I was getting ready for school one morning when I noticed Pickles pushing like she was trying to poop. I stood there in shock because Pickles never pooped in the house.

“Mom, Mom, something is wrong with Pickles. It looks like she is trying to poop, but nothing is coming out.”

My mom ran over and started yelling for my dad. “Dan, come here. I think something is wrong with Pickles.”

My dad and all my sisters joined in to watch Pickles bear down.

Suddenly a black blob came out of her and hit the floor. The blob had legs! Pickles was giving birth! I was amazed and disgusted at the same time.

We all stood there not really knowing what to do. Within fifteen minutes, there were three blobs on the floor that came to life. Pickles continued to bear down and push, and we were all waiting for the fourth blob, but it never came.

After giving birth, Pickles started looking weak, and my mom and dad took her to the hospital. She had a dead, deformed puppy inside her that she couldn’t deliver. They removed the pup and brought Pickles back home to care for her litter.

It’s a beautiful thing to watch animals care for their pups. Without words, their energy and attention radiate love.

In the months that followed, we watched people come over and adopt all of Pickles’s babies. I wondered how Pickles didn’t get upset that people were stealing her babies. Another amazing thing about animals, I guess.

Our family had no idea how old Pickles actually was because my dad had found her on the side of the road with rubber bands around her snout and rescued her. But while I was in high school, Pickles started to slow down. She wouldn’t chase down birds anymore, her hair started to get wiry, and, by my senior year, she started to stink.

My whole family ignored the fact that Pickles was getting older. There was no way we would ever think about putting her down. But after a couple more years, Pickles had tumors all over her body. When I pet her, my hand would go up and down because of all the bumps. It was obvious she had cancer and there was nothing we could do about it. Pickles started to live behind our couch. She wouldn’t move from there. All we would see was her little tail sticking out. Then she no longer had the ability to control her bowels.

People would come over, sit down in our living room, and say, “You know it reeks of pee in here.” We all kind of knew it but ignored it because solving the problem would mean putting down our beloved dog. And that wasn’t going to happen.

When I came back from college, I was amazed to find Pickles still alive. Well, she wasn’t really alive. She couldn’t walk, she was loaded with even more tumors, and she would pee and poo on herself.

I sat down next to her and petted her while singing the song I used to sing to her when I was little. My heart was breaking. I was mature enough now to see that Pickles was in pain and that we were all being really selfish.

I confronted my mom. “Mom, I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“To put Pickles down.”

“Oh, Jenny, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“She’s in a lot of pain. I don’t want her to die either, but she can’t live like a blob on the floor and suffer. We have to let her go.” I could tell I was getting through to my mom.

Her eyes started to tear up and she said to me, “Okay then, you take her in.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because you think it’s time.”

“I can’t do it. I love that dog.”

“Well, no one will do it, Jenny, so either you take her or she stays.”

I felt sick to my stomach, but I wanted to help Pickles get out of pain and agreed to be the brave one in the family. “Fine. I’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s make sure everyone says their good-byes.”

The next day my entire family surrounded Pickles. We petted her and thanked her for never biting us even though we tortured her with costume changes. We thanked her for always being happy to see us when we got home and for being such a wonderful member of our family.

We all began crying, including my dad, as I scooped Pickles up in my arms and carried her to the car. My whole family was standing at the front door crying and holding each other.

I couldn’t believe I was the only one willing to do this. It was awful. When I drove away, I looked down at Pickles on the seat and scream-cried the whole way to the vet.

“I’m so sorry, Pickles. I’m so sorry. But you are going to a better place, where you won’t be in pain.”

I pulled up next to cars at red lights and didn’t realize how loud I was scream-crying. People were honking their horns to make sure I was okay.

I pulled up to the vet, scooped up Pickles, and walked in.

Through tears and borderline hyperventilation, I mumbled, “I need to put my dog down.”

The vets had me sign some paperwork and told me I could go into the room and say good-bye.

I put my head on top of Pickles. I told her to look out for me in Heaven and to be the guardian angel of our family. I kissed her good-bye and walked out the door.

When my car pulled up in front of my house, I saw my mom come to the front door. I immediately got out and started crying.

“Oh, Jenny, you did the right thing,” my mom said.

“No, I didn’t,” I cried. I opened the back door to my car.

There was Pickles in the backseat.

“I couldn’t do it, Mom. I just couldn’t do it.”

I scooped Pickles up and took her back into the house. Everyone jumped on her crying, happy that we still had Pickles.

We were all so weak it was pathetic.

Poor Pickles.

I prayed that she would die in her sleep, but after three months she was still alive and still peeing and pooing on herself.

Around this time, I started dating a new guy named Donny. He was up to date with what was going on with Pickles because our home stank. One Sunday, he and I were all alone in the house while everyone else was at church and an idea popped into my head.

“Donny, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Go bring my dog in to be put down.”

He looked over at Pickles and back at me. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to wait for your family?”

“No. Go now before I change my mind.” Once again I burst into tears. I kissed Pickles good-bye and watched Donny carry her to his car.

I felt bad that none of us was going with them, but I had to do something to get her out of the pain she was in and I knew this was the only way.

I ran upstairs to my room and scream-cried into my pillow.

Losing a pet is without a doubt losing a family member, and Pickles will always be remembered as the fifth McCarthy sister.

I had been home from college for a year and felt really lost. Not having a purpose in life made me feel like a waste. I needed to do something besides work at the Polish grocery store. I was $20,000 in debt and I knew I had to “go big or go home.”