I was just reading over some of my posts, and to the new reader, it might appear that my life is pretty much governed by food and teens. I’m not sure that is a fair representation of who I am. I have many more complicated layers which make up the sack of human flesh that is me. I should warn you though…If you are into having your expectations met, this is probably not the place for you to spend the remainder of your allotted internet time today. I believe ‘disappointment’ is the word you were looking for.
Today I can tell you about my dog. Not in a third-grade-bring-your-pet-to-school kind of style. This is more about how maybe we humans don’t really deserve dogs at all. They’re too good for us.
The dog in my life right now is Ruby. We figure she’s about 7 or 8, but no one really knows because she was a drifter before she came to me. Her life consisted of what I imagine to have been a series of near misses, stolen meals and at least one teen pregnancy. She, like most rescue dogs you hear about, is a very gracious dog, seeming to be ever thankful for her new life in central heat/central air padded splendour. She has enhanced my life and I push thoughts of her inevitable departure out of my head when they sneak in because they hurt.
For all the love I give her, there is also a certain degree of what Ruby would call ‘dick moves’. I have never knowingly done anything dickish to her, but I guarantee she has rolled her eyes more than once at my ignorance.
- Every time she has a dream where she is making noises and twitching her legs, I wake her up.
I THINK I’m doing her a favour and saving her from a dream about evil trees blowing in the wind. She hates going out in the wind. Billowing trees freak her out, and wind-knocked garbage cans or swirling plastic bags reduce her to a shivering mess. Her absolute arch enemy would be one of those advertising wind dancer inflatable guys.
Close enough. Although Ruby DOES love bananas…
I hear you, baby. Those things of not right. In my complete anthropomorphizing of Ruby, I have never once considered that her dream might be about one of the best belly rubs ever, or diving into a vat of steak gristle and bacon bits. What if when I wake her up, I have woken her from her best moment of the day and then had the nerve to placate her by saying “it’s ok baby…it’s ok”.
Nope. It was actually ok until I came along. I made it awful and then told you it was ok that I made it awful. I’m practically a politician.
- When it’s cold out and I rush her along to do her business. Toileting business. Not her Mary Kay business. I’d never rush her through that.
When it’s cold outside and we are on our daily poop-walk, I am always trying to rush her along. I have been known to repeat the exasperated phrase ‘Go poop. Just poop. POOP already!’ for the entire time we are braving -30 wind chills. She’s just out there reading her urine based emails and trying to have a relaxing poop. The last time someone knocked on the bathroom door when I was doing my business and having a poop (I find I can do my Mary Kay stuff anywhere!), I passive aggressively decided to extend my stay even longer. One more Instagram search for cute otter videos coming up!
- When I give her treats like cheese because there is actually a pill tucked inside, then she starts to think all snacks are hers.
Recently, she had a medical thing happen which resulted in her requiring one pill twice a day for the next 3 weeks. People will tell you that you can make your dog take pills by just holding their snouts closed and they will swallow. Those people are hilarious. Ruby is the most resistant of the non-swallowing dog I have ever met. Watching her triumphant ejection of every pill was actually kind of impressive. The problem is that now she associates any and all trips to the kitchen as being all about getting a cheese slice laced with drugs. If I happen to make the “pill noise” opening my bottle of old-people vitamins, she pulls a lame-dog Tokyo drift around the corner to get to me.
Some math now, because I love math. If pills=cheese, and cheese=love, then all pills=love? Great.
I feel an intervention coming on.