Bad Idea Jeans, Old Lady Breath and A Spectacular End Zone Pass – Dogsitting in Three Acts

My parents are having their roof replaced this week, so we’re repaying them for countless hours of watching Rudy for us by dogsitting Bailey and Lucy (aka The Wiener Dog). If left at their house, the dogs would spend the days relentlessly barking at the roofers. And we enjoy having them, as they provide all sorts of entertainment, from covertly stealing each other's toys to doing the "butt scoot" across the floor.

The pooches are sweet, adorable and generally well behaved, but as many of you know, Lucy is actually the Epicenter of Evil, disguised in a cute little hot dog shaped package. Here we share the tale of our week, presented in three acts, to illustrate exactly how evil that wienie is.

THE SETTING: Our house

THE PLAYERS:

Dave and Kelly: Experienced dogsitters

(Don't we just look like we'd be capable? Yes, yes, we do!)

Rudy: Our black lab, slightly needy for snuggles, prone to separation anxiety and CLD (compulsive licking disorder)

Bailey: The "Mellow Yellow" littermate of Rudy, obsessed with our cat, but otherwise generally averse to too much inter-doggie interaction, particularly when it might result in confrontation with the bossy wiener dog

Lucy: aka "The Wiener" (see also Epicenter of Evil)

(You think she's cute, don't you? Well, don't be deceived...this is the same dog notorious for climbing on the dining room table and helping herself to "the buffet" if left unattended at holiday functions.)






ACT ONE: TUESDAY

AM

No sooner do the dogs arrive than The Wiener immediately goes for Rudy’s toy basket. She likes to remove each toy one-by-one, spewing them across the living room floor in a trail of the disemboweled plush toy entrails and tennis balls scattered on the floor and under couches.

I continue about my business while The Wiener sets about trying to get at the toy that is of course at the very bottom of the basket. Typically, this involves her working to topple the basket over – which is taller than she is – by pawing at it and encouraging it to yield to her through the power of a high-pitched, whiny moan. She is usually successful.

As I blow dry my hair, Rudy plants herself near me in the guest room, nervously wagging her tail and staring me down. I tell her to go play with Lucy. She just stares intensely back at me. Bailey watches us forlornly from the hallway.

I think nothing of Rudy's odd behavior until I notice the sounds of The Wiener's attempts to knock over the basket getting louder. So loud I can hear it over the sound of the blow drier...

When I finally peek my head out to investigate, I note the wood chips scattered all over. Instead of trying to knock over the basket, she has been GNAWING away at the handle. I suppose she figured if she whittled the handle away, she'd have easier access to the smorgasbord of dog toys. Kind of genius, really.

So it seems Rudy's staring me down was apparently a (rather pathetic) attempt to warn me that The Wiener was up to no good. And Bailey...well, she was just trying to fly under the radar as usual.

PM

While putting out the pooches, Dave makes the judgment call that The Weiner doesn't need to be tied up and puts her out to roam freely while she does her bidness. Can we say Bad Idea Jeans? I bolt for the back door expecting to have to hunt her down like the wild animal Houdini that she is, but am shocked to see her waiting impatiently at the back door. What the…? Oh, that’s right, it's raining. And Wienie hates the rain. Thank goodness for precipitation!

ACT TWO: WEDNESDAY

AM

Other than waking us at 5 a.m. to go out, the dogs are quiet all night, with Rudy and Bailey in the living room and The Wiener of course in the bed with us. As the alarm goes off and I contemplate hitting snooze, she snuggles herself into the crook of my arm, resting her head on my shoulder. Normally, this kind of doggy cuddling would encourage me to ignore the alarm and stay in bed a while longer. But this is The Wiener dog. She begins smacking her tongue like an old lady with dry mouth (and the most severe case of dragon breath I’ve ever experienced. In case I haven’t previously mentioned it, I am convinced she’s so evil that she’s rotting from the inside. There are no amount of Mentos that can make that fresh).

“Smack, smack, smack,” goes The Wiener, as noxious fumes escape her tiny snout. This goes on for several minutes without a break. Finally, I can take it no more and figure that at least it’s great motivation to start my day. There's nothing like a smelly, noisy wiener dog all up in your grill to get you out of bed. Perhaps we can find a way to sell her services to parents who can't get their kids out of bed in the morning…

PM

Dave, in charge of putting out all three dogs by himself, soon discovers they have gotten loose and are dashing about the neighborhood willy nilly. They bombard our lovely neighbor in a blur of friendly fur, but are eventually subdued and returned to the house safely.

I miss this escapade, but when he shares it with me later, I laugh cruelly in Dave’s face, mocking his naïveté for leaving the dogs outside unattended. Amateur!

(You know what they say about payback, don’t you? Well, she's coming back to bite me in the you-know-what, and hard...Wait for it...).

ACT THREE: THURSDAY

Minor disturbances at 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. The first is Dave, waking to take a potty break, but in his sleepwalking stupor, neglecting to put the dogs back out into the living room and shut the bedroom door. Ahem, no, honey, it will NOT be fine to leave Rudy in the room unattended. This the dog who wants so desperately to snuggle with us on the bed that she will purposefully scrape her paw at the duvet until her wish is granted (my side: PAW…Dave's side: PAW…repeat). But Dave just mumbles something and immediately falls back to sleep. So I get up and ban said pooch from the room, ending the cyclical expression of OCD neediness, for the moment at least.

A few hours later, we set about the normal morning routine of letting the dogs out, this time one by one. (We are infinitely proud of ourselves: We are smart; we have learned our lesson!). The two labs go out and come back without a hitch. And then there’s The Wiener…

Not long after putting her on the lead, I hear her barking her fool head off in the driveway. I pad to the back door in my jammies and slippers and call to her, telling her to quit it already and encouraging her to come back in the house. (Yes, I know, how foolish its is of me to think this would actually work!). As she ignores me, she somehow frees herself of the lead and starts trotting down the driveway after the source of her annoyance.

I charge after her in my bedtime getup, attempting to entice her with treats and all manner of promises. To no avail, however, as she’s now reveling in the game of chase. She makes her way to the front yard, evading me with each turn. Every time she zigs, I zag.

Like a greased pig, I can’t quite manage to get my hands on her. Finally, I snatch her by the middle and lift her from the ground, her stubby little paws still working as if she’s on a treadmill. Unfortunately, there’s no time to gloat about my achievement because the wet ground gives way and I careen face first into the grass, sliding forward while holding The Wiener like a wide receiver cradling a football into the end zone.

We land with a thud and I note that my left side is coated with mud and grass. Fortunately, I don’t seem to be injured and have managed to maintain my vise-like grip on The Wiener, who has not a spec of mud on her. Of course.

As I stumble my way back to the house, I furtively glance around to see whether any neighbors have witnessed this grand debacle. I don’t see anyone, but imagine it’s only a matter of time before my not-so-graceful dive makes its way onto YouTube. And for that, I can thank…

THE WIENER!!!

Let's hope this is the final act of evil wiener world domination.

That’s one expensive “free” dog!

This particular phrase has been making the rounds in recent weeks, as my husband and I have crystallized our friends and family into two camps: “Those who would,” and “Those who wouldn't,” creating an interesting dialogue among the “You’d-be-crazy-to’s” vs. the “You’d-be-heartless-not-to’s.”

All of this debate refers to expending something as inconsequential as mere dollars to save something as monumentally important as a life, moreover, a life of unselfish, unyielding devotion, laughter, snuggles and joy.

I am of course referring to the debate over whether or not we would get doggy chemo for our beloved Ru Dog, who was recently diagnosed with skin cancer. And yes, I am admittedly biased in my assessment in naming the two sides of this debate, but hey, it’s my blog, so I’m allowed to take some liberty. Certainly it’s no shock to anyone who knows me that I’d vote for saving the dog: I am "that girl" who cries at ASPCA commercials, who’s not “allowed” to watch Animal Cops because a mere five minutes of viewing results in either wracking sobs or violent epithets that the perpetrators must be castrated in ways exponentially more cruel than the evil they inflicted.

So I’m sure it’s no shock that I am the undisputed captain of “Team Save Ru Dog.” As soon as the vet told us that doggy chemo does not dish out the same side effects as it does to humans and that Ru’s quality of life would be maintained, I was pretty well convinced. And when he said that treatment would likely buy her a few more years, I figured the deal was done. I paid no attention to such inconsequential details as the price tag or time commitment. What did that matter?

Which is why I was so surprised when Dave and I walked out to the lobby together and shared our opinions about next steps, each assuming the other was of the same mind:

Me: “Well of COURSE, we’re definitely getting chemo. Definitely.”

Him: “Clearly we should just go with the steroids and see what happens.”

In Unison: “What???”

I was appalled. Dave was definitely not joining “Team Save Ru Dog” with me…but worse, in voting for steroids-only, he was leading “Team Cheap Ass”! Was this really the man I married?

OK, I’m exaggerating just a leetle bit…and I don’t want to be unfair to my darling hubby, who admittedly is the kindest man I know and often carries the flag of honor in my one-woman crazy parade. He loves our dog, and he loves me. He’s just a little too practical to see the sense in paying for cancer treatment for a dog (who’s already had two knees replaced, in his defense). In his mind, a dog is a dog, beloved…but a pet nonetheless. In my mind, a dog, particularly one who brings us so much joy and whose soul speaks through her eyes – ahem – is a member of the family. And God help the man who tries to get in my way to save her.

Yes, I realize that marriage is supposed to be about compromise and taking each other’s opinions and feelings into account, and I usually strive for that approach. But in this instance, I failed miserably. I said to my other half, “Honey, I love you, but this train is leaving the station and, crazy as it may be, I sure hope you’ll jump on, or at the very least get the *bleep* off the tracks.” Fortunately for me, my dear partner in life did the mature thing and admitted that while he didn’t necessarily agree, he loved me enough to suck it up and move forward with the treatment.

So it is with cautious optimism, love and gratitude that I look forward to a new year: Hope that our beloved pooch heals, adoration for a husband who loves me enough to overlook the dollar signs, and sincere thanks for the well wishes and support of our friends and family.

But, Dad? Could you please just do me a favor and quit telling Dave that Rudy “sure is one expensive ‘free’ dog!”? I mean, really, can we talk about soooo NOT HELPING???

Thanks!

Deck the Halls

As far as we cats are concerned, there are few times more thrilling than when the adults pull out our favorite toy for us. You know, that tall prickly one they cover with all the beads and ornaments for us to bat about and try to remove? Well, yesterday was that day at our house.

Between the beads and the bows, the ornaments and the lights, there was a lot for me to play with. The only challenge was where to start.

But I did my part and made sure I played with all of them. It's a tough job having that much fun, and by the end of the day, I was pooped!

In fact, I think Rudy was zonked just watching me.

Not to worry, though. There's plenty more fun to be had, and I fully intend to go back for more...just as soon as I finish my nap.

In the Words of Gloria Gaynor

A few weeks ago we learned our beloved Ru Dog had a cancerous tumor on her elbow. She had surgery last Monday to remove it and is recovering well.

Overall, she's been a very good patient, but we have learned our lesson not to underestimate her tenacity, or her need to lick EVERYTHING. The night we brought her home, we made the mistake of assuming it was safe to leave her alone for only a short time. Upon return, we were quite surprised to find she'd been very busy while we were out.

Time elapsed without constant supervision: 1 hour.

Damage: Bandage removed, completely in one piece.

Time it took to purchase and outfit her with this ridiculous cone contraption: 15 minutes.

Sorry, dog, but it's for your own good. The irony of this particular accessory is that they call it the "Elizabethan Collar," clearly because it resembles the high collars the British monarch sported as her regal attire. But tell me, does this poor dog look at all regal to you? I think not.

So Rudy has to wear the cone when she's alone for a few more days just to make sure she doesn't lick her wounds. She...is...counting...the...hours. Until then, she is working up a full scale Pity Party. Big sad eyes, droopy head. It's certainly doing the trick to make me feel guilty.

The test results came back and revealed that the type of cancer Rudy has is the kind likely to spread, but so far, there don't appear to be any signs of metastasis. So our next step is a visit to the doggy oncologist to learn our options. We've heard that chemo for animals is much less debilitating and painful than it is for humans, so we're hopeful we can take some steps to keep the cancer from spreading without decreasing her quality of life (read: ability to romp in the woods, fetch and swim). If anyone has any experience with doggy cancer, please let us know.

And in the meantime, thanks to everyone for their love and prayers. We are keeping our outlook positive and are confident that Rudy's tenacity will make her a survivor!

Quite the Operation

Hey, folks. Kooks the cat here. I thought you might be interested in the latest activity here at our house. Not that I let all of the excitement get to me, though (yawn). Mostly I just watch my parents’ frenzies with one eye open, because, let’s be honest: I’m just not that interested and can’t be bothered to give up my nap. Unless it involves food or partying with the other neighborhood felines. But that’s another story for another day.

If you’ve read previous posts, you know I was accused of bringing fleas into the house…and reminded almost daily that I was responsible for the corresponding itching and scratching. So this explains why I took such an interest in “Operation Flea Removal.” That mom of mine is nothing if not entertaining when she gets a bug in her bonnet (pardon the pun!), so this latest adventure was quite the production.

She’d been yammering for some time about how she was not living with critters anymore but she and Dad are always hyping what they call “natural” and “organic” alternatives. (If you ask me, this organic crap is hooey, as the “presents” the dogs leave in the basement are about as “organic” as it gets, and yet these don't make them happy. Don’t tell Rudy this, though, because she hasn’t yet figured out why our parents get so mad when she craps in the basement. That rube still thinks she’s giving them a loving gift! Lucy the wiener dog sure has her hoodwinked, and I’m certainly not going to be the one to ruin the charade. It’s just too darn funny.) But I digress…

So, anyway, mom found some stuff that’s supposed to be safe for pets. It’s made from algae or fossils, or some other weird substance, so she naturally figured it would be a great idea. She decided to apply it in the basement one afternoon while daddy went somewhere to watch a football game, as he usually does on Sunday afternoons.

What followed was one of the more entertaining productions this cat has witnessed in a while. Mom read somewhere that the particles in the powder are really fine and dry out human skin and lungs so she shouldn’t come in contact with any of it…so she SUITED UP! This outfit was really something to see: Daddy’s socks pulled up to her knees, a breathing mask and rubber gloves! Talk about looking foolish.




But after about an hour of applying this crazy powder with a flour sifter and then vacuuming it up like a mad woman, all the while muttering about how she could imagine the tiny cries of fleas screaming in surrender, she seemed pleased with the results. And quite pleased with herself, I may say. Apparently those fleas that were biting her are gone, so for now I’m off the hook. Good thing, because if anyone’s going to this “farm” they keep threatening to send us to, it’d better be the dog. I was here first!

I found this photo mom took of me and am posting it because I look so dang cute. Does anyone know what that sign says?

Bad, Bad Dog

"Who? Me???"

The Scene: Our house. Last night. Dave and I are enjoying a late dinner, when it occurs to me I don’t know where the dog is.

Me: Honey, where’s Rudy?

Dave: Oh, I let her out a while ago. But she’s awfully quiet. I wonder why she’s not barking to come in. She’s been out there a while…

(Opens the back door.)

Dave: What the…??? Oh…My…GODDDD! Disgusting!!!

Me: What is it, honey?

Dave: Oh holy mother of God. Bad dog! Bad dog! BAD, BAD dog!

Me: Do you need me?

I take the lack of answer to be a yes and find Dave outside by the garage muttering loudly to himself while he cleans remnants of garbage Rudy has been quietly but happily rooting in while we enjoyed our dinner in blissful ignorance.

And then I am practically knocked over by the stench coming from my otherwise adorable dog.

Me: What IS that? (gag reflex kicks in briefly) Oh wow. Whatever it is, she’s got it all over her face! Good Lord!

(An aside: This isn’t your ordinary, everyday garbage. This is garbage comprised of “compostable materials” that Dave makes me save when I cook so he can go through the 20-some steps of composting it for use in the garden. It’s a great system, except, unfortunately, this particular batch never got composted, so the egg shells, egg yolks, vegetables and other miscellaneous kitchen waste have instead, well, rotted. And this was the mother of all rot. The big daddy voodoo of all doo doo. Words cannot explain how gross this was.)

And this is exactly what my dog got into. With aplomb. She is of course at this point looking at me with smiling eyes and a wagging tail, as if to say, “Isn't it fabulous?”

Bad, bad dog.

So we round up the doggy shampoo, hose her down in the driveway and scrub off the nastiness. And yes, this would be the second time this summer I’ve been outside at odd hours washing stench off my dog.

But of course the story doesn’t end here, because we’re not sensible people, after all.

An hour later Rudy paws at me to go out again. Figuring she may have actually ingested some of the rotting garbage, I hurry to let her out. We certainly don’t want an ugly accident in the house.

And, like déjà vu, we go through the whole cycle again.

Dave: Where’s the dog?

Me: I let her out.

Dave: Did you shorten her run? We don’t want her getting back into the garbage.

Me: Wait. You left the garbage where it was? Oh crap!

(Sounds of me running to the back door, stubbing my toe on an errant dog bone lying in the path of my mad dash and then yelling about the stench being there. Again. I mean, seriously, it took her less than a minute).

Yep. As if on a loop, the scene repeats:

Me, Dave, Rudy.

Driveway.

Shampoo.

Hose.

Utter amazement at our own stupidity.

Dog Days of Summer

Shh…they’re sleeping. I know this because Daddy’s snoring and Mommy keeps mumbling, “Oh, hush, honey, for the love of GOD!” in her sleep. My sister Kookai is on the corner of the bed cleaning herself. She does that a lot.

So anyway, I figured now would be a safe time to check out this blog thing Mommy keeps saying is so much fun. I also heard that she's been telling stories about our escapades lately, but who better to tell you what we’ve really been up than us pets?

Leaving presents in the basement. I know where I'm supposed to go to the bathroom, but my aunt Lucy, the wiener dog, told me that our parents like it when we leave them presents on the carpet every once in a while. So when she comes over to visit she shows me where to go so I can do it too sometimes. Lucy’s really bossy but she knows a lot of cool things, like how to steal food and hide it for later. Plus, she’s kind of scary, so I usually do what she says. The weird thing is, I don't think my parents have noticed my presents yet. Every time I leave them one, they start yelling about something so I figure they're just distracted when they go down there. I will probably just keep at it until they notice my good work.

Bunny hunting. Do you people even realize what prime bunny hunting time it is right now?! They’re everywhere, just everywhere! Hiding in the grass. Peeking out from the bushes. And they taunt me non-stop. When we go for walks, all I hear is their squeaky little bunny voices singsonging, “You can’t catch us, slow poke…nah nah nah nah nah!” Mommy and Daddy don't appreciate my obsession with the bunnies. Though, I don't think they're happy about it because they get all loud and there’s usually some tugging on my harness, but it’s really a bit of a blur, because with all the smack those furry little devils are throwing down, I can't help but focus on the bunnies, bunnies, bunnies…

Sneaking out. Well, Kooks has been doing this a lot. She’s mastered the art of streaking past Daddy when he lets me out. For such a fat cat, she’s pretty quick. She tells me she’s been having a blast partying all night with the neighborhood cats. Personally, I think she’s getting kind of a “reputation.” I also know she takes particular pleasure in waking up Mommy and Daddy at 4 a.m. by positioning herself under their bedroom window and meowing incessantly until they let her in. I have to hand it to her, she’s gotten really good at this. She doesn’t even take a breath in between meows, and if they ignore her, she just follows them to whichever room they go to and meows under that window. She says that after a long night out on the town, she’s hungry and thirsty and the only reason our parents are here anyway is to feed her, water her and basically cater to her every whim. She also says I'm stupid for trying to please them all the time. Well, all I know is that Mommy is not happy about the crack-of-dawn wake up calls and keeps threatening to take Kooks to this place called a “farm” so she can "make herself useful instead of gallivanting around with all the neighborhood Toms." I don’t know what that means, exactly, but I bet Kooks would have fun with the barn cats.


And speaking of farms, Daddy keeps telling me he’s going to send me to a special place called the “Burrito Farm.” Usually this follows one of his fits of bellowing. Something about there being more crap in the basement (I think this is what keeps distracting him from finding my presents). But I bet a Burrito Farm would be fun. I wonder if they have bunnies there. That sure would be great.

Swimming. I just love to swim at the doggy beach. Last week as I was running around in circles showing off my fetching skills, this lady I passed told my Mommy that she didn’t like dogs. Mommy made me get away from her but I heard her say, “What kind of person doesn’t like dogs?” Well, I figured I could win the lady over, so I made sure to run past her again and show her how awesome my orange fetch toy is. I mean, it’s really cool and I swam really far out to get it. But the lady didn’t seem to like that either, and then Mommy yelled at me and put me back on my leash and I couldn’t even swim out to the deep end anymore. It was kind of a bummer. But I hope we get to go back soon and maybe the mean lady won’t be there.

Camp. Mommy and Daddy went away for a weekend and I got to go to Lab Camp. My doggy mommy Sadie, my brother Norm, sister Lulu and niece Callie all live there and it’s super fun. We play a lot and there are a TON of good bones for me to chew. Callie is kind of a spazz, but the rest of us usually just gang up on her and try to steal her toys. She seems to like it, though, so I guess everybody wins. And Mama Lee Ann spoils me a lot. But don’t tell Mommy because she always says I come back from camp five pounds fatter. What’s wrong with that?

Ice cream! Forget about bacon; ice cream is where it’s at. Last night Mommy and Daddy took me for a walk to the ice cream place. A walk AND ice cream! Life sure was good, even if I didn’t catch any bunnies. I got my very own cone, and you can bet I didn’t take my time scarfing down that yummy goodness. I don’t know why Mommy and Daddy take so long to eat theirs when it’s really easy to get it all down in one chomp. You’d think they’d know better, because they eat kind of a lot of ice cream.

So that’s the real scoop. Kooks and I have been enjoying the summer and we hope we get to do some more fun stuff.

Oh, and that hoopla about the skunk? Frankly, I was a little surprised at all the fuss Mommy made about that. I mean, when I found that patch of strong smell in our backyard, I thought to myself, Hooray! Mommy and Daddy sure would be proud if I could cover myself in this stuff. So I gave it a good roll, making sure to really root around in it. And what did they do? They completely freaked out and then washed it right off. Huh. But I got to play in the water in the front yard, which was pretty fun.

Well, bye for now. I asked Kooks if she wanted to contribute anything but she told me to leave her alone because she's napping. A late night and all that. Typical.

Lots of licks,

Rudy

Skunked!

Early this morning, just as we were just heading out the door to work, we noticed a somewhat familiar, completely horrible odor toward the back of the house. It smelled suspiciously like...skunk...and the dog was out in the backyard!

When I went to let her in, the noxious fumes got worse, and yep, there was gunk on her head and it looked wet. After conferring with the hubby, we had no choice but to conclude that our pooch got skunked. Several of our friends have experienced this same horror, but I couldn't remember exactly which potions they'd used or how well they had worked. Fortunately, the last time we went to the vet, I happened to pick up the handy instructions on de-skunkifying a pet that were kindly displayed on the counter top.

So that's how I ended up in our front yard this morning (long story, but the other, more inconspicuous, hoses weren't an option) in my grubby clothes and full make up, scrubbing my wayward pooch with cold water. In the rain. And yes, there were witnesses.

The vet's special brew called for peroxide, baking soda and dish soap, which I liberally applied to the dog. It seemed to neutralize the smell on the furry beast, but her breath, the backyard, and consequently the back of our house, still carry a faint odor. Having experienced a house-skunking in the past, I can only hope it doesn't take weeks to dissipate.

Since telling this story to our coworkers this morning, my husband and I have learned of several alternate de-skunking recipes, many involving tomato juice, and one of which has a "secret" ingredient I cannot - in fact, will not - repeat here. But I will share two versions that were offered up. One I tried this morning and another I wish I had...

De-Skunkifying Potion #1 (provided by our vet)
1 quart peroxide
1 tsp Dawn or Palmolive dish soap
1/4 cup baking soda

De-Skunkifying Potion #2 (provided by my coworker)
1/2 cup tomato juice
1 1/2 ounces (1 jigger) vodka
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Worcestershire sauce to taste
Tabasco to taste
1 celery stick for garnish
1 lemon wedge for garnish

Clearly, Potion #2 is more suited to the skunked animal's parents. And after the morning I had, I sure could use a serving of this stuff!