My mother had a dog made online

It all started before I, my parents' eldest human child, was born. Although I find it quite a challenging exercise in humility to conceive of my parents beyond the boxes of mother and father that they have come to occupy so thoroughly in my reality, there is documented evidence that they existed before I was born.
That said, I have not entirely ruled out the possibility that the universe clicked into being on January 11, 1988 at the exact moment that my abnormally large and bald head transitioned from womb to world-- you should know that although I've grown into it, my head was once so disproportionately large that the collars of my shirts had to be cut by those parental figures I told you about... and that I was bald for an unusually long time.
But really, I have not yet figured out how to access the world by a means other than my fickle (but not malicious) senses, so technically (probably not technically) my universe started then.
It is therefore, in the self absorbed vortex of my own subjectivity, appropriate to say that BEFORE THE DAWN OF TIME, my parents had a dog named Doobie. You know, like a joint.

Anywho, Doobie may or may not have been out of her mind, depending on what that phrase means and if it makes sense, but she jumped all over everyone, licked the lotion off my mother's calves and for the last several years of her 15 year old life pooed and peed all over our basement.
Nonetheless my mother adored her endlessly, my father played it cool but did as well, and my siblings and I coexisted in relatively disinterested peace alongside her- my parents' eldest child.

Doobie, z"l, died nine years ago. Slightly less than 9 years ago, my mother began her petition for a new dog.
Thwarted (awkward word) time and again, my mother ultimately resigned to her fate of living in a house with only human beings, the occasional short lived fruit fly infestation, and the vast multiplicity of organisms that we assume do not exist because we cannot see them with our own eyes.
**FAST FORWARD THROUGH BRACES, NATURAL DISASTERS (INCLUDING SOME NOTABLE ONES THAT WEREN'T IN IMPOVERISHED COUNTRIES), MOVING TO FOREST HILL, THE FINANCIAL RECESSION AND MY YOUNGEST SISTER'S GRADUATION FROM HIGH SCHOOL**
My parents were on the verge of becoming empty nesters, and alah vashalom (pronounced "all of a sudden"), a canine love receptacle was back on the table. But the thing is, they're not really becoming empty nesters- I'm moving back home!! (two thumbs up, forced smile, uncomfortable head tilt)
So, it came to pass, that after months of deliberation and my dad having a nightmare that my mom got in a violent car crash which prompted him to become very accommodating during waking life, my family (mother) decided to "get a dog."
An exhaustive online search led us (her) to an Illinois-based breeder with a batch of Aussiedoodles, a strain of dog not found in nature, but manufactured by Joyce (?) for international distribution.
After making it explicitly clear that I have no intention of taking this dog for walks in the dead of winter as my mother sips Merlot and reads her latest book in the living room, I allowed myself to be comforted by the soothing voices of dog trainers imported into our kitchen via the audiotapes that underlay daily life as we counted down to the arrival of our American package.
Finally, on Thursday evening my parents went to THE AIRPORT to pick up "our" dog. She had flown into Pearson, after a several hour layover in Atlanta, and needed some human aid in clearing customs.
**Is that not the most absurd thing you've ever heard?**

Truth is this dog is beautiful. But when I see her scampering around the kitchen I can't help but think, "what the hell are you doing here?" I find domesticated animals an absolutely hilarious and mind boggling phenomenon, but as a good friend pointed out we can't really reverse the process at this point, even if we wanted to. Case in point: the dog pooed outside. We all applauded. But then my parents had to cut off chunks of her butt hair because there was poo stuck to it . And it was irritating her.
Are you serious? I feel like I'd have a better chance of surviving in the wild than this little creature that now lives in my house, licks my toes, and can't be left alone without crying.
I just hope she doesn't hijack all of the attention, and leave me to spiral downward into the grips of post-undergrad uncertainty without the parental attention I've grown so melodramatically accustomed to...oy.