Planning for Game Warp has left little time for blogging over the last few weeks.
However, I did manage to snag one accolade this week.
I have officially been dubbed “the worst dog Mom in the world”.
The other night I was 85% asleep when Mr. came in and lay down in bed.
Mr – Is the dog inside?
Me – Yes, he’s under the bed. See – snort, snort.
Mr – Are you sure? I don’t hear him.
Me – ZZzzzz…..
Morning dawned and I made my slow, slumbering way into the living area. The house seemed abnormally quiet. I called the dog with no answer. I then opened the front door to see a cream ball of fur rocket its way into the house.
In tribute to this event Mr. has made up this wonderful song:
There’s a chew-chew on the lawn
What’s he doing on the lawn?
Please don’t steal or run ov’r him
He’s just been forgotten
BTW, Mr. has been playing WAY too much Plants vs. Zombies.
And, I know they were channeling Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop when creating that song. It gets completely stuck in my head.
This weekend was an extremely traumatic one for me, my husband, and especially, my little alien dog. This Friday he had “The Operation”. I’ve been living with my husband griping and shooting me dirty looks for a couple of days now. He winces whenever he sees the dog walk gingerly along.
Although he had the procedure on Friday, Chewbacca wasn’t allowed to come home until Saturday. I had to work early Saturday morning and I had dropped him off early on Friday, thus I went over 24 hours without seeing my little guy.
While waiting for him to come home I contemplated the usual doubts:
Do we really know enough about the health benefits to do this to dogs?
What do we know about dog balls, anyway?
See that? I said balls…huh…huh…huh…
I’m making puns on the level of a five year old. Greeaatttt.
I want to believe the ladies at the vets’ office and the Vet when they say it will be better for his health. I want to believe it may help with his recently developed prostrate problems and decrease his chances of cancer. I want to believe this, yet I also worry that I’ve needlessly caused him horrible pain, suffering, and loss of doggie street cred.
I love my dog dearly. He follows me around like a devoted sidekick. I’m his favorite person and the thought of harming his amazing personality dismays me. He sings with me and cavorts around on the floor when I hit the high notes.
From the moment he found us I loved him.
While visiting friends for a New Year’s party quite a few years back, we were sitting on the back patio talking and drinking when someone came around saying that we all needed to take a look at this weird cat/dog thing on the front porch. Another friend popped to the front and came back carrying a big ball of fur. This ball of fur turned out to be one very frightened Pekingese. We offered him food and water, but he wouldn’t eat. Later, I was to discover that fireworks induce pure terror in the dog.
At one point during the night, the dog disappeared. After a brief search we found him wedged so tightly under the shed that he couldn’t get back out. Our friend who owned the house had to crawl under and pull him loose.
At this point, I quickly marshaled my forces and carried out my attack. I blithely suggested to my husband that for his safety the dog should stay in the back of our car. You see, I had fallen in love with the dog. I was determined to win the war and take home the spoils despite my husband’s edict that we should remain a dog free zone. Victory would be mine! With a minimum of fuss the dog made it into our car. Perhaps, my husband was also harboring a secret love for the mutt?
Needlessly to say at the end of the night, the dog accompanied us home. Despite due diligence on my part, the owners could never be located and the dog had no collar or microchip.
As far as I can see, Chewbacca remains the same, goofy, lying around on his back, snoring with his tongue hanging out dog that he was before “The Operation”.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
My husband contemplates forgiving me some day.
I curl up on the floor to pet my little guy as he slowly waddles toward me.
I’ve been feeling a bit tired and overwhelmed the last couple of weeks. It’s a combination of things – recovering from the late nights of Howl-O-Scream, acquiring a new job and illness brought on by powerful antibiotics. The antibiotics came into play after I was bitten on the leg by my neighbor’s dog.
The attack happened on Halloween; ironically I got to enjoy real blood and gore that day.
I went to the neighbor’s house to ask if I could borrow something. When I went up to ring the bell and was speaking to the neighbor the dog rammed into the screen door, jumped outside and bit me. It was traumatic, but I’m okay. I didn’t have to get stitches. I reacted to protect myself as best I could (thanks Tae Kwon Do) and the owner came out and grabbed the dog quickly.
Stereotypically, the dog that attacked me is a pit bull. I understand the negative persona that the breed has, but even after my attack I’m hesitant to label all dogs in this breed as aggressive killers. From what I’ve seen the owner of the dog does not take it for walks. He also revealed to me after the attack that he has problems getting the dog out of the car and back into the house. The dog originally belonged to his son, who is now in prison. The owner is a 70 year-old man who is not prepared to own – as Cesar Milan would say – such a powerful breed. The dog lacks the exercise, obedience and training that he needs.
I want the owner to get rid of the dog, but I doubt that he will voluntarily. Now, I find myself in the awkward position of deciding how far I want to take this. I spoke to animal services to confirm the dog had all of its shot; their reaction was unconcerned at best. Now, when walking my dog (a very small dog) I feel I should be carrying a big stick!
Should I alert the neighbors? Do I really want to turn this into a war? Are pit bulls bullies or can they be trained? Should the owner have to give up the dog? Do I have reason to fear being attacked again?