Thirteen Years and Counting
Exhibit A: One of Mary's most favorite past-times is being mummified by my favorite fleece blanket.
Exhibit B: Another of her favorite things is raw carrots. She is also fond of broccoli (cooked or raw) and apples (green more than red, but she's not too picky). But nothing compares to cheddar cheese, which she gets very rarely due to being on a special hyper-allergenic diet that consists of no dairy or meat protein.
Exhibit C: The Lio-Rat Incident. My dog has been mocked, tormented, and stumbled over probably more times than any dog alive. And yet, she still remains faithfully loyal to me, despite having brought her into a household shared by her arch-nemesis- Tyler.
Happy birthday, El Fluffo. It's been Thirteen long and mostly fun years. Here's to many more without too many health complications.
Lio-rat Demon Dog
I have the misfortune of owning a fur-ball dog known as a Westie. Of course, some owners of fur-ball dogs would consider owning a Westie fortunate as they have some odd genetic defect which prevents them from shedding like all normal dogs. To compensate for this defect, they have about three different layers of fur (thick fuzz, normal hair, wire-o-doom) that make it impossible to run a brush through them. If the thick fuzz layer doesn't mangel the brush, the wire-o-doom layer will make sure to not only destroy the brush, but also to make your hand look like it accidently got between two wild cats who happen to be fighting over a plastic grocery bag with some meat juice in the bottom.
Because I had had such an impossibly horrid week by the time my birthday rolled around, I decided I was going to treat myself to a birthday present and have Mary, my dog, groomed at Petco. Remembering that the place takes "walk-ins", I was positive they would be able to schedule an appointment for that day. Instead, I was laughingly informed that they were booked through Sunday. I decided my dog really needed a haircut before I left for Rome, so I set an appointment for today.
After the events of this weekend made the earlier horrors of the week seem like lounging on the couch with a popsicle on a "hot" Seattle summer day, I determined that nothing was going to ruin the start of this week. Nothing. Things started out well- I got to leave work early, despite not knowing that the office would be closed before I showed up. I even finished some internship paper that I thought was due today (even though it's really due in three days). But then I made the mistake of deciding mere feet away from Petco that my Oldsmobile could take on a Grand Wagoneer piloted by a sorority girl (though, definitely the nicest one I've met yet). Even though that's another story, the Grand Wagoneer suffered only a broken tail light and half-an-inch long smudge of my white paint. No dents. No cracks. Nothing. My car, on the other hand, has now become a one-sided gimp, complete with a long dented streak across both passenger side doors and some blue paint to remember the Grand Wagoneer by.
After swapping insurance information, taking some pictures of the "damage" on the Grand Wagoneer, and apologizing profusely for being such a fucking idiot, I walked the soon-to-be-sheered dog to the grooming section of Petco. I wrote down my phone number and signed a waiver form. I then handed the leash to a grimacing woman with hair that was supposed to be blue, but much in the way of Dawn liquid soap in a sink full of water and dirty dishes, it was actually a dingy gray-blue-brown. "My dog is nervous when on the table, and she doesn't like her toenails fussed with, but she should be well-behaved if you're sensitive and nice to her," I cautioned.
"It'll be no problem," the woman assured me. "The person who groomed her here before wrote that she's a bit skittery on the table, but is really nice and calm otherwise."
I watched as she tried to coax my dog away from a spot on the floor she was rapidly sniffing, and then left feeling an overwhelming amount of stress because of my car and all of the other things that have piled up during the course of the week.
Two and a half hours later found me sitting on the couch with my iBook watching a movie when the phone rang. A quiet voice on the other end informed me that it was the groomer at Petco calling. "Wow, that's early," I said.
"Yeah, well, your dog is the worst dog I've ever had to groom. It took three of us to hold her down and she was struggling so much that we shaved a funny line down her back. We didn't even get to her head. I personally think you are the cruelest owner to do this to your dog. What the hell is wrong with you? You shouldn't put a dog her age under so much stress! We're so stressed out, and she's so stressed out that this can't continue. I want you to pick up this demon hellhound of yours right now and never bring her back here. Don't ever come back- we don't want to ever see you or your dog again!"
"Um... I'm really sorry." Why was I apologizing to the groomer when she was being so mean? "I'm so sorry, she's usually not that bad. She's a bit nervous, especially when you cut her toenails, but I've never had this type of problem before."
"Yeah, well I find that hard to believe," the groomer snapped back. "What the hell's wrong with her? You abuse her or something?"
"No, I don't 'abuse or something' my dog. Though thanks for your polite concern. She doesn't like some people- you have to be nice and patient with her. If you aren't, she tends to act up. But I've never had this problem before, so I'm terribly sorry."
"Yeah, well just get her outta here. We won't charge you, but I don't wanna fuckin' look at that damn dog any longer."
"I'll be over as soon as I can," I told her. With that, the phone on the other end slammed down, fumbling for a split second as it searched for the cradle.
Tears filled my eyes. "What a horrible day", I intoned over and over again as I blindly searched for my phone book. As soon as I found the phone book, I called the house of some friends and asked with tears flowing down my cheeks if one of them could pick me up and take me to Petco. "Sure, we'll be there right away," my friend told me. I waited on the sidewalk for them, eating a mostly ripe pear.
When they brought me to Petco, I ran inside and found a different woman at the counter. "I'm here to pick up the 'demon hellhound' I told her." She looked at me blankly. I guess a lot of demon hellhounds end up there. "She's a white dog." Recognition crossed her face, she nodded and went into the back to inform the woman with gray-blue-brown hair that the abusive owner of the demon hellhound was here.
When Graybluebrown brought out my Cerberus, she threw the demonic hellhound as if she was a skipping stone so that Mary skimmed over the surface of the countertop and landed in my arms. She then threw Mary's collar and leash at me and ran into the back room without a word. Oblivious regarding the supposed stress she caused the groomers, but happy to see me, Mary sat in my arms calmly as I fastened her collar and leash. When I brought her out to my friends' car, they were too sensitive to laugh at the state of her.
"She looks dumb," I told them, my mouth trying to simultaneously smile and frown. Her entire body was shaved closely save for her head, which was an untouched mass of fur that veiled her ears and eyes. In fact, her body had been shaved so closely, it was unproportionately smaller than the spray of fur that made up her head. Even her tail had been shaved down to the bone, making it look like a scrawny wagging tree branch.
"She looks like the bastard-child of a lion and a rat," my friend told me from the front passenger seat.
"She's a Lio-rat," I said. The three of us stared forward, not laughing.
Fifteen minutes later, we reached my apartment and I got out of the car and saw that her rear had been shaved so closely it was bald. "My dog has a bare ass!" I screamed in a mix of genuine terror and mock horror. My friends both started laughing from the car, laughing about her bare "baboon" ass and laughing about how funny her knobby legs looked when she squatted to pee on the grass.
"You poor thing, you look so stupid," I told her as my friends drove away. "They certainly did a bad job shaving you down." I looked down at her as she wiggled in circular patterns and delightedly sniffed around the grass, and wondered how anything pathetic enough to earn the name "Lio-rat" could really be a hellhound straight from the demonic nether-world depths of evil.
She Was Named After The Queen of Scots
Last night, I had a heart-wrenching nightmare that my dog, Mary, had died. If I ever woke up in a cold sweat, it would have been then. I vividly remember my eyes flaring open while my chest constricted from a mixture of stress and fear. When the throbbing of my heart began to recede, I could hear my dog�s congested snoring to the right of me. Unsure of reality, I gingerly moved my hand towards the floor and felt for her warm white fluff. My fingertips touched her ear and I then rubbed her head, causing her to start from her slumber.
Maybe I have no faith in this world, but I always imagine that were anyone to be in my place they'd be relieved when my dog dies. She's old (albeit healthy), and has had a good life. But most of all, it's not easy taking care of a dog while struggling with school-related financial troubles. I have lost count of the times someone has told me to get rid of my dog because she's a financial burden. Their advice may be practical, but do they understand what Mary means to me?
Mary has been my companion since I was ten years old. She has stood by me for over half of my lifetime and is the only true friend I had before college. None of my friends, not even Tyler, have been there for my most pleasant childhood memories. Mary was by my side during the lazy summer days I spent with my nose shoved in a book, swinging under grape vines. She's the only one who knows the delightful taste of the blue grapes I would strain to reach, and how they popped in one's mouth with a burst of flavor that I have not found elsewhere. Only Mary was there for me throughout my three years of High School- the same three years that saw my mother's beautiful body turned into a crippled and hunched shell of pain. And most important of all, Mary was the only one who stayed by my mother's side during the long hours I worked throughout High School and after I had moved to the dorms for college. Not even my father can claim that he spent as much time taking care of my mother as my dog did. She may not have been able to cook fish sticks, but the extent of Mary's selfishness was to sit next to my mother in order to receive attention. That simple act of constantly being by my mother�s side, comforted her during the peak of her pain.
I have vowed to return my dog's loyalty with a loyalty of my own. I will take care of her and attempt to provide the best life possible while concentrating on the joyful moments we share with one another. Money is a small price to pay for the joy that Mary brings me on a day to day basis. Most people cannot understand this, but that's okay. All that matters is that I understand.
So why all of the depressing posts? The period of September and October is a time of reflection for me. It's the time that my mother's health took a major turn for the worst three years ago, followed by a choice or two that I regret. What I write here helps me reflect upon my past and my present. It also helps me continue my healing and self-improvement. It's a somber time of reflection for me, a time that trumpets the coming winter months which often dampen my spirits. But Spring always follows, and with it all of my favorite flowers and the ability to play in the soil for yet another year.
