Here's your piece of Unsolicited Life Advice for today: Never get a dog.
Because they'll decide that you are the only one who is qualified to take them out to pee in the early morning, or the middle of the night. Which suits the hubby-who-can-sleep-through-anything just fine.
Because the dog will eventually turn twelve.
And because his memory and body will start to fail him.
And you will take him out to pee at 10:20pm. And the dog will pee. And poop. And then you will go upstairs and go to sleep.
And the dog will wake you at 11:00. P.M. And you will leave your warm bed and take him downstairs and outside. And he will pee. And poop. And then you will go back upstairs and go to sleep.
And the dog will wake you at 1:00am. And you will stare at the clock for a few seconds. And then you will desperately try to cling to the fleeting memories of what you think was a pretty good dream--but they will vanish. And you will leave your warm bed. And you will make sure you have a good grip on the bannister before you trudge downstairs, only half awake, to let the dog out. The dog will probably pee. And then you will go back upstairs and go to sleep.
And the dog will wake you up at 4 something. And you will fight the urge to cry. And you will, once again, leave your toasty bed and grip the bannister a little more tightly. And you will let the dog out and not even watch him as he pees or sniffs every blade of grass or just stands there sniffing the wind and looking confused. And then you will go back upstairs and be thankful that you can have another two hour nap before you have to get up for the day.
And then you will wake on your own at 6:30. And after ten more minutes, you will force yourself to get up and start your day. And after you are all showered, made up, and dressed, you and your dog will go downstairs to start making breakfast and school lunches.
And you will discover that the dog has pooped in the dining room.
And peed on the corner of one of the rugs in the foyer.
Never get a dog.