I live my life with two small dogs.
I used to think I was all about the cats, and while Steve the Cat is still my boon companion in the bathroom, and still very possessive of me when it comes time to be fed, the dogs have evolved into…
Giant furry pain in the ass relatives that I can’t kick out and would miss horribly if they left.
Not a healthy relationship, no.
* In the morning, I have taken to traveling with dog treats in the car so that I can call them back from being “at large” on the front sidewalk as I walk from the car to the house. Does this work? Are they greedy little bastards who prostitute their dignity and dance backwards for a single scrap of “pup-a-roni”? You bet your ass it works.
* In the afternoon, if I end up taking a nap (and since Safari quit on me today, and refused to resurrect, it was like God telling me to “Go! Go! You’ll get your work done eventually!”) the dogs come with me. They’re excited about nap time. The littlest one runs around and dust mops my face with her ruff and then passes out on top of the covers as though dead. The bigger one usually crawls under the covers with me and hangs. This afternoon, he decided he needed to go to the bathroom so he let him self out (and the back door was open, just to let the spring air in) and then came back. When he came back, he licked me, every so gently, on the lips. My eyes shot open and I peeled back the comforter, and then he dove in under the covers to his usual place.
As I fell asleep, I thought, “OMG– I just let a dog into my bed for nothing but a kiss on the lips. Either I’m Sleeping Beauty or I’m easy as fuck!” And then I fell asleep, because, hello, NAP!
* They take turns bullying the cat, which saddens me on many levels. A. The cat is bigger than them, and I want her to triumph over their weenie asses. B. The cat doesn’t DO anything to them– she is sweet, and a little stupid, but mostly sweet, and she likes sleeping and clawing my leg for attention– THE END. C. They are full of themselves, and I wish someone would take them down a peg. None of these reasons seem to get in the way of the dog/cat order of being in my house, however, so the poor thing is beleaguered…
Everywhere except on our bed. The TOP of our bed is neutral territory. BELOW our bed, on the other hand, is someplace they can harry poor Steve until she just runs away on general principle.
On the other hand, Gordie, Chicken’s cat, scares them. Literally– they look at that cat and wet themselves. On the few times they’ve taken Gordie by surprise, the whole family tells Chicken during her next phone call and her anguished protest of “My pussy runs from no man!” can be heard across the airwaves.
Yes, it sounds filthy. Yes, I think that is the point. Yes, her father blames me for that, why do you ask?
* The little one is still not potty trained. The other day, I caught her crapping in my bedroom and swept her up and charged through the house. “Get out of the way! She’s still pushing out turds like a Pez dispenser of poop!” Needless to say, Zoomboy heard mom screaming about poop and lost it, laughing to hard to get out of my way, and the dog just kept turding, upside down and backwards, as I rushed her into the backyard. That’s okay– I made Zoomboy trace our tracks in turds from the back door to the bedroom and throw away the evidence, because, well, I’m the mom and I say that’s what he gets for laughing while I’m running through the house with a shitting dog.
* They live comforted by the belief that everything outside the car is a bastard. This means that while I”m driving down the road, if we’re standing at a stoplight and they see something walk by, it must be barked at and driven away.
Yes, little dogs, they are all bastards, bark at the bastards, get them! Get them! Bastards! Mailmen! They deserve your wrath!
Most people walking by to observe their wrath laugh their asses off, but that doesn’t bother the dogs.
They have done their job.
And by the way, as you look at the pictures of the dogs, you may note A. that they have their own bedding exclusively for the car, and B. that the McDonalds bag (which I”ve thrown away, I swear!) says it all.
The dogs are, indeed, loving it.
I used to have a chiweewee mix that loved to car ride. We lived in a fairly rural area of Kentucky with lots of cows and some horses in pastures along the roads. My little Buster was determined to drive those spawn of satan (cows, horses, etc.) from the face of the earth by barking his fool head off every time he saw some. He also loved to stick his head out the window and play batdog (the old TV batman song but with batdog substituted), but he was too little to reach the window. Whoever was riding passenger had to let him stand on their leg and hold him while he stuck his head out the window and everyone sang the batdog song. I loved that little shit, and it just about killed me when he passed.
I admire your attitude about your dogs. And you are not the only one who has rushed a pooping dog out of the house, it really is an exercise in futility but we keep trying.