The Look Works Every Time

It’s a Dog’s Life

I apologized to the dog.

Again.

It was the cat’s fault.

The cat didn’t care. She was sleeping on my lap.

On a soft blanket.

All morning.

I had to go to the bathroom. I ignored it as long as I could. I read another chapter, okay cartoon, in my book. But some things are inevitable.

So I got up.

Finally.

The cat was mad and took over the chair I just left. She curled up like a Roly-Poly bug and put one paw over her eyes.

The dog’s feelings were hurt that I didn’t invite him to go to the bathroom.

Why do dogs get their feelings hurt, but cats just get ticked off?

Don’t give me cat grief. There are four cats in my house ignoring two giant carpeted cat trees so they can shed on my recliners and send fur tumbleweeds rolling through the living room. Each cat is capable of sleeping in my lap for 22 hours each day. They could sleep longer, but they take time off to make me feel guilty that the bottom of their food bowl is showing.

There is food in the bowl. There is a trail of kitty niblets leading away from the dish and across my kitchen floor. The dog will clean that up later. Kitty niblets make him happy. Everything makes him happy.

Except when I go to the bathroom without him.

“You’re doing important dog things,” I explained. Who is going to lick the couch cushions if I drag you along on my rest area expeditions?

He put his ears down in sad position and gazed up at me like Princess Diana used to do so she would look soulful when cameras were near. Nobody could look as soulful as Priness Diana. Except the dog.

It worked.

“Okay, let’s go.” We walked together the ten steps to the bathroom door. He wanted to go in, but I explained there wasn’t room for two pouting faces. He sighed heavily and I apologized.

When I came out of the door thirty seconds later he was so happy to see me I had to rush him out the back door so he wouldn’t water the hall carpet like a backyard garden. When he came in I gave him a treat and let him Hoover up the kitty niblets.

It's not like he never eats. He was self-trained with Door Dash delivery. He can detect the presence of a pizza left on the front porch rocker so well he can tell if it’s the one on the left or the right and whether the cushion is crooked. Enter the house with a rattly bag full of burgers and fries and you’ll never make it past the coffee table without succumbing to a drool pit.

I’m surprised that the animal rights people haven’t contacted us with warrants, restraining orders, and writs of habeus corpulence.

When that happns, at least he'll know how to pose for the cameras.

I’ll apologize to him for the inconvenience.

And give him a treat.

 

 

 

Fascinating Facts

While taking a summer break from blogging, I picked up a few new followers, which tells me something, although I'd rather not think about it. Instead, I'll credit the talent of Lisa Allen for giving folks a tidbit or two to tune in for. Thanks Lisa!

In retribution, I mean thanks, to the new folks, I decided to force you to, er TREAT you to, some tidbits about moi. (As Miss Piggy, no relation, would say.) I decided to call them "Fascinating Facts" because "Facts That Put Us To Sleep" just doesn't have that mysterious quality that draws in new readers. So set your alarm and read on.

Fascinating facts:

1. I share a birthday with Abraham Lincoln. My kids think we’re twins. (Abe and Amy. It fits, right?) I told them our mother could only tell us apart because Abe parts his hat on the opposite side from me. And wears his beard is shorter.

2. I’m not good with crafts. My niece gave me a glue gun for Christmas and I glued the bag closed before I could get the gun out. Now I’m required by law to keep the ammunition in a separate location.

4. I like to drive red cars. It’s a mother of two’s way of telling the world there’s more to me than apple juice and gym socks.

5. I like to wear blue jeans everywhere. It’s the white trash version of The Little Black Dress. Reeboks are my pumps. I have a matching wrap. It’s made by Levi Strauss.

6. If my mother weren’t already gone, she would dig her own grave with a grapefruit spoon if she heard me say white trash.

7. I drink Mountain Dew for the taste. That’s like saying I read Playboy for the articles. It’s really all about the rush.

8. I wish I could play the piano. I’d like to hit the ivories at high speed with Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and leave steam rising from the keys once before I die.

9. I was inside a church that caught on fire. No one was hurt, but to this day, I can’t roast marshmallows without singing Nearer My God to Thee.

10. My kids think they know everything because they can program the TV, the computer, and the cell phone. But they don’t know that I named the dog the primary beneficiary on my life insurance policy or that he’s in charge of their trust fund.

11. My husband, the Captain of our Love Boat, secretly thinks that I’m bossy, that I like to do everything my own way, and that I’m adverse to change. I think adverse means the opposite of reverse and is one of the gifts and graces mentioned in the Bible.

12. I’ve been married twice. So far.

Special Delivery

For a while, the Captain of our Kennel discovered he could waylay any latent longings for new experiences in motherhood I might display with the addition of a new pet. Pets aren’t less expensive than children, but in rare cases their obedience training is actually effective. I am now the Angelina Jolie of the animal world. Presently I have six animals representing various cultures lounging on the living room furniture, ringing for takeout.

The cats are no trouble. They thrive on indifference. And aloe plants. Aloe plants that you’ve pampered and promised roomy new pots to if only they will “Live, please, live just one more day!” Shortly after a feline gourmet vegetarian meal, you will discover that fillet of aloe plant makes them puke fancy green spearmint gum-type designs on the new living room plush.

I can also keep up with the Labradors. Chunk a ball down the driveway and they will knit themselves into a scarf trying to be the first to grab it up and chew it like Double Bubble. Big dogs are easy. They know they’re dogs (okay, they also know they’re people and feel entitled to at least half of your sandwich, but that’s another thing entirely.) The thing is, they EXPECT to chase a ball and to be invited outside of the house for personal chores, such as watering topiaries and chasing squirrels. They come in the house to sleep or to help with the vacuuming or to beg for potato chips.

It’s the Dachshund that gives me trouble.

So far she has successfully trained me to retrieve a toy, give her a treat, and dress appropriately for carrying her outside under the umbrella in inclement weather. I’m striving for more complex achievements, but if she thinks I’m good for agility training, she’s going to be disappointed. I’m 51 years old. I don’t always make it safely through the hallway obstacle course on my 2:00 a.m. bathroom expedition. For me, agility is the ability not to trip over shadows and to open the bottle of pain reliever without calling for the Jaws of Life.

Occasionally, I will look down by my chair to find the little darling gazing up at me with the kind of eyes that would make Ebenezer Scrooge sign up as a Salvation Army bell ringer, attempting to assimilate me into her thought processes. Usually I’m not adept at picking up other languages, but now I recognize Dachshund for “play,” “treat,” and “let’s send the big dogs to live with your brother.”

As an added embarrassment, she doesn’t care for clothes like the movie stars' dogs do. Oh, she’s up for sleeping on your new sweater or dragging your soiled underwear through the dining room to pad her bed when company is passing the sugar bowl for tea. But she turns surly if you present her with a set of twinkling reindeer antlers at Christmastime, and no matter how nicely you ask, she won't let you tie the chinstrap in a fetching bow.

She once shunned a beautiful sweater, knitted entirely by the hands of her loving auntie, to shield her from the winter wind. She pulled her head and paws in like a turtle so that trying to dress her was like stuffing a sausage. And I’m quite certain that the thoughts parading through her stubborn Dachshund brain were particularly unladylike. I informed her straightaway that I knew a little Pug that would love to have that sweater, and with one look she invited me to pack it up and send it along special delivery. And the Labradors along with it.

I think I’ll need a bigger box.

A Dog's Life

Special Note: Watch for me at 10:00, Tuesday, 12/2/08, on WSPA-TV7's "Your Carolina with Jack and Kimberly. Bill and I are promoting our twin anthologies, The Ultimate Dog Lover and The Ultimate Cat Lover.

Everything I know in life, I learned from the dog.

I learned that no matter what time in the night you get up to answer the call of nature, it's Bowser's breakfast time.

I learned that even if you leave your new sneakers outside for a month in heat and rain and the occasional tornado force wind, the treads will wear off before puppy poop will.

I learned that if you give each of two dogs a rawhide chip of the exact same dimensions, one will hide theirs and steal the one from the other dog. And then lie about it.

I learned that if you have one molecule of doggie treat left in your pocket from three winters and six drycleanings ago, a good scent hound can tell how big the molecule is, what flavor it used to be, and exactly which pocket contains the treat.

I learned that when it comes to doggie treats, every dog is a good scent hound.

I learned that in a fight between one huge, giant dog and one tiny, petite dog, the tiny dog has nothing to lose.

I learned that one pair of liquid brown eyes staring longingly at your face while you eat can be endearing. Two pairs are simply annoying.

I learned that a huge, giant dog may find new uses for a tiny, petite dog’s water dish. It’s a finger bowl. It’s a shot glass. It’s a frisbee.

I learned that two dogs are as adept at playing the "He touched me first" game as two brothers.

I learned that if you have a dog and get a new puppy, the puppy will want to be friends. The older dog will want to give the puppy to wandering bands of gypsies.