Wednesday, September 21, 2011

She Doesn’t Do That in My House

Has this happened to you? You go away for a few days, and you leave your dog with a friend. Upon returning, you are told what a great house guest she was. She didn’t destroy anything. She didn’t poop or pee in the house. She was the perfect angel. She slept in their bed. Then the first night you are back, she takes a shit in the middle of the living room to get back at you for leaving her for three days.

I rarely travel, and when I do, it is usually for just a couple of days and only once or twice a year. With Esmeralda, the problem has been what to do with her. I tried one of those doggy daycare places where they let the dogs run around like idiots all day. I don’t know, but Montessori for mutts just isn’t her idea of fun.

When she returned home the one time I left her in one of those places, she was a neurotic mess for a couple of weeks. Or maybe I was.

She doesn’t like barking dogs. If we encounter a barking dog while out on a walk, she just ignores the dog completely and picks up the pace to get as far away as possible. A lot of this has to do with her past encounters with aggressive dogs. But I can identify with her because I don’t like yappy dogs either ... or their owners. We have one with two Yorkies who yap and growl and foam at the mouth – the dogs, too. I wonder if they had their shots?

Also, have you ever noticed that women with male dogs, no matter the size of the dog, always have the most aggressive dogs? Are they protecting their masters? If I see a woman walking a male dog while I am out with Esmeralda, I immediately cross the street. I always get from the woman, “Oh, he is so friendly.” And I answer, “Oh, my dog isn’t, so this makes it easier.” I figure by using “I” statements I can avoid a discussion about how friendly her Cujo is while trying to remove its jaws from my dog’s throat.

When I lived in Rockville, there were these two women with very aggressive dogs, and they would let them wrestle and play in the hallway right outside the elevators. I stepped off with Esmeralda one day, and they immediately attacked (the dogs, not the women). I scooped Esmeralda up immediately, and one of them said in her best Yuppie voice, “Oh, she doesn’t like puppy play time?” I answered, “No, she doesn’t like dumb ass owners and their ill-behaved mongrels attacking her when they should do their puppy play time in a park rather than an apartment hallway. Are you retarded?”

I’ll bet when one of those Yuppies has her first child, she’ll be one of those mothers who insist on bringing her screaming brat everywhere and complaining when a restaurant doesn’t cater to children. You know the type. They usually have a $3,000 carriage and take the child on the Metro and read a book to the child in a very loud voice, so you will know what great parents they are. Meanwhile, they beat their children with wire hangers when no one is around.

Speaking of children, my late Serena hated children. She was very smart. We had this blonde woman in the neighborhood I used to call “mother of the year.” She would jog with her horrible offspring in one of those jogging carriages and expound life lessons in the loudest voice possible, so we would all be impressed with her mothering skills. She would also steal furniture while people were moving in or out. I am not making that up. She assumed that if the movers put a chair or other item on the street for a few moments while they made room or gathered more items, that item was free for the taking. I guess this was her five-second rule. She used to get into arguments all the time with people. I heard more than once, “Oh I thought you were throwing it away.” Who throws away a Queen Anne desk in museum quality condition?

When the landlords redid my kitchen, she actually stepped into my apartment and asked one of the workers to move the stove outside, so she could take it home. This was the goddam new stove they were getting ready to install! I walked into the kitchen and ordered her off the property and to take her blond pet chimpanzee with her.

Anyway, before that incident, her future serial killer son wanted to pet Serena one day, and I said, “I am sorry, but she is afraid of children, so I would prefer he didn’t.” From that day on, she would always say as she passed me on the street, “That is the dog that hates children.” And I would say, “Oh look. It’s Mother of the Year.”

Speaking of touching my dog. I don’t like children I don’t know touching my dog. My dog is clean, and children have hands full of food and God knows what else. Kids also grab and poke. With Serena, I would scoop her up whenever a kid came near, and one mother got really upset insisting I let her child touch my dog, and I said no, and she just insisted, so I said in my creepiest voice, “Can I touch your child?” She ran off and never asked me again.

Then there was the hippy who said to his kids, go get that dog. The kids came running, and I scooped Serena up. I turned around and … I cannot write what I said to him or they will shut down this blog.

Esmeralda is OK with kids. Her dog walker, Mrs. M, has two grandchildren who go with her when she walks Esmeralda. As a matter of fact, Esmeralda likes children more than I do. Since Mrs. M is so good with her, and Esmeralda likes her and Mr. M, they were the logical choice to babysit while I was gone for only three days.

I returned, and Mrs. M told me she was no trouble at all. They loved having her. So sweet and well behaved and perfectly housebroken. She even napped with Mr. M while Mrs. M went shopping. They want to babysit her again.

I’ll have to think about that while I clean the shit stain off my new carpet.

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1 comment:

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