Dog Daze
My dog runs the show. Those of you who know me may find it hard to believe - (that's a joke) but yes, my dog runs the show. I am not sure how this happened. But when I'm reduced to negotiating which side of the bed I get, I know I'm pretty much done for.I took Bunny dog to the groomers on Saturday. A very good friend does this for a living. Though she usually grooms well-mannered, obedient dogs, she has always agreed to groom my dog. She's nice like that. Bunny Dog is a Jack Russell with short and long hair. Groomers pull out the long, wiry hair and leave the short straight hair on certain types of terriers. Most dogs sit patiently and quietly and let the groomer get to work. It does not hurt the dog - as far as every other groomer and dog in history experience. However, when one watches my dog being groomed, it looks as if he's having electroshock treatment.
The first minute or two, everything is usually fine. Bunny Dog sits patiently and lets the grooming commence. Then, after a few minutes, he will sort of look around and it's almost as if you can see his thought process change ...hmm. 'I am being held on this table against my will, I am not in control! If I let this continue, I will lose my position as world dominator - therefore must do something horrible and make this a terrible experience to show the strength of my power!!'
At that point, Bunny Dog goes ballistic. He thrashes and screams and bites and growls and shakes and scratches. He whines and cries and leaves nice tooth marks on the Groomer's knuckles. He becomes completely unbearable. An hour later - after having tried a muzzle :chewed in half and spit across the room, a harness: torn and shredded, and the brute strength of 3 people: who will never, ever get the dog hair off of the clothes they were wearing - his grooming session was done. I insisted she take well above the cost of the grooming session because I was so embarrassed. (again)
Then and there I made a (new) pact to change my ways. Put some of the rules and obedience back in to our lives that have so badly gone missing. No more Miss Nice!
You know, hang on a sec'....Bunny Dog is so CUUUUTE after he's groomed! We will definitely start boot camp...tomorrow...
A couple days later and I am back to square 1. Last night I went to bed and found him on my side of the bed. I asked him to move, I attempted to move him myself - but I sort of think my fingers are useful, if not that attractive, so I stopped short of amputation. I tried to convince him a leg of lamb had fallen on the floor in the kitchen so he would move. He didn't buy that... Eventually I found something crinkly and made noises like I was unwrapping food in the next room. When he came rushing into the room, I raced back to bed and took my rightful position. Pathetic.
There I was in my bed, reading peacefully...and then something happened. You couldn't make this stuff up. I swear.
Bunny Dog thought he saw a spider on the ceiling above my bedside table. He rushed over the bed, and spying the most logical way to boost himself up to the highest level to get the spider, he basically climbed up my torso, neck and pounded on my head to get up and claw at the spider.
All at once, he slipped, knocking my bedside lamp over, hanging on to my bedside table, he began to tip it over, all my books slid to the floor in great thumps and then he landed sideways with a back paw catching the lip of his water bowl. His water bowl had been only half full. You know when you spill liquid, it's amazing how far it reaches? (Like a gulp or two of red wine when spilled looks like a gallon was poured on the carpet?)
Well, my book looked like I had dropped it in the bath tub. My duvet was soaked. My floor was flooded, there was water in the closets, on the walls, and I even found a puddle of water in a shoe. I swear, it was like a perfect movie scene from a crappy Disney after-school special. The only thing that wasn't wet was - not surprisingly, his damn dog bed. Which is why he chose to sleep there after all.
Cartoonist Lynn Johnston has been writing a newspaper comic strip called 'For Better or Worse' since 1979. Before my Dad passed away, he had saved one of her Sunday paper comics. This one showed her washing her dogs, refilling their water bowls, feeding them and letting them snuggle on the sofa with her in front of the TV in a nice warm living room. In the last panel of the strip she is watching TV coverage of the crisis in Darfur where people have no running water, no drinking water, no food, no shelter, no safety, no security nowhere to sleep, no hope, nothing but despair and violence.
She looks down at her dogs and herself - and feels ridiculous.
posted by Brussels Confidential @ 2:01 PM
<< Home