More Dog Days

As I predicted in my own mind, I have been partially eaten by dogs over the past few months. When I’m not at work, I’m looking for work, and when not doing either, I’m performing in my sole act as the dog yeller. “NO, NO! NO PEE-PEE IN THE HOUSE!” “NO, LEAVE MOSES ALONE!” “DOWN BEAR, DOWN! “NO GIVE, GIVE!” The latter as I tried to rescue a Teddy Bear from the jaws of (ironically) Bear, the Newfoundland mix that thinks he’s a lap dog. (He consumed the entire head of a toy bear I’d had since I was a child, the first night here.) Let me tell you, it’s not easy running in flip-flops.

My house and yard are filled with shredded magazines, the innards and ears of once stuffed toys, and parts of shoes of which I finally just said, “What the hell, eat ‘em. I can’t run anymore.” I’m covered in bruises from encounters with puppy teeth and paws, and I’m sure the neighbors think that my sole vocabulary is “Good boy, pee-pee outside!” which I often say at 3 a. m. Now that the puppy is trained, I’m so trained to repeat that phrase that I’m still yelling it out the kitchen window when I see him doing his business in the yard. At this point, he’s giving me dirty looks that seem to say, “Shut up already. You’re embarrassing me in front of the other dogs.” Speaking of which, I probably smell like pee. I’m not really sure but I do know via several close encounters with a mirror, that I look like hell.

Jack, who said of our “foster” dog Bear, “I want to keep him,” two hours after he arrived, immediately left town, leaving me to referee three canines with three different kinds of food and to pull the puppy away from an irate pug who doesn’t want a damn thing to do with either one of them. My original reason to get the smaller dog, London, was as a companion for Moses. Boy was I ever wrong! Thank goodness that the other two play non-stop, unless they’re sleeping or I would have shot myself by now. I actually considered doing so after the first few days alone with this crew.

Selfishly, I brooded that I had ruined my life. Then I worried that I had ruined Moses’s life. When I shared that worry with friend Denise, she reminded me that he had looked depressed all of his life. “That’s his face!” I guess she’s right and he has perked up a bit. I think he’s so ticked off at me that he’s vowed to live to be a hundred.

Anyway, Jack returned from out of town and as we watched the dogs play, marveled at how London came when I called him and stopped short of Moses when I told him no. “Wow he’s really smart,” said Jack. “Look how smart he is!” I gave him a look. “Oh, I guess you taught him some of that,” he quickly added.

Yah THINK?!