Category Archives: The Dog

I watched my dog do a handstand

The Dog, ,

I-watched-my-dog

My dog has this thing she does where she tries to be much taller than she is; she puts her rear legs in the air and pees in a front hand-stand. For real. She clearly picked this dominance-seeking behavior up in doggy day care, as I’m a bad puppy mom who left her there from time to time while I went to work each day. I would have taught her better manners if I were around, but alas, we cannot have it all (contrary to every feminist blog I can’t escape). I suspect she picked this up from a gang of smaller dogs, maybe the chihuahuas (never really trusted them–pointy ears and noses is too much pointy anything). Nevertheless, she’s picked it up and now I have to gently push her bum down to remind her of better manners when strangers walk by so that she’s not scooped up by a casting director for the next season of American Horror Story.

When 9 PM rolls around, she gets up from her fifth nap of the day to look at me with a bit of judgement, as if to say, “seriously, it’s past our bed time mommy.” Then she sighs heavily and spins on her haunches to go into the bedroom without me.  She’s quite independent when she wants to be, and she’ll decide what her energy level is, thank you. She has no dimmer; the switch is either fully on or fully off.  And Caesar’s rules of “no touch, no talk, no eye contact” aren’t tolerated in her world. You will acknowledge her, or she will die trying.

In the mornings, she can’t be bothered to get up from the bed unless or until there’s food involved.  And once it’s clear that “barkfast” is on its way, only then will she leap from the bed to plop down on the floor, scratch her back on the carpet, and stick her butt in the air (no, not to pee) to stretch her front legs. And just as she finishes stretching, her little butt, which has a white stripe up the center just like a reindeer’s, she plops over and promptly goes back to rest until “barkfast” is served.  For emphasis, she sometimes does this adorable little howl while she’s stretching to let me know she’s got a strong opinion on the matter.

So some days I push her handstand bum down to feign politeness and other days I just let her go and say, “go on witycha bad self, Rudolph!”  Either way, she’s my unique fuzzbutt and I wouldn’t trade her bum-in-the-air-pee-style for anything.  I’m in love with this sturdy gal, quirks and all.

I found a puppy

The Dog, , ,

Emma_Dec2012

Or rather, a puppy found me.  I’ll never forget how this cantankerous little fuzzbutt came into my life.  I had it in my head that I’d know – truly know – I was an adult as soon as I could take care of something else and keep it alive (bonus points for happy and alive).  I had grown up with a Boston Terrier, and by God, I was going to get a Boston of my very own and name her Emma just as soon as I was a certified adult.  (No idea where that name came from, but once I want something, I generally abandon all good judgement to get it.)  Browsing a cute-overload site with puppies seemed like a logical distraction from preparing for my final meeting with the graduate committee to defend my work later that week. Surely, this second degree was the milestone I had been waiting for!

On page 12, after I thought I had seen all of the Bostons there were to see (strangely, none were in Boston), I saw her.  She had these adorable little floppy Gizmo ears and a sweet innocent look about her that made me think I needed to save her.  Aww – so sweet – what’s her name?  Emma.  Yep – her name was already Emma.  [In fairness, I’m sure there are a bazillion Emma Bostons out there, but I needed a sign, so work with me, people.]  Where was she?  Bentonville, Arkansas.  Well that ended that.  I wasn’t going to make Gizmo-Emma fly alone across the country.  Hell, no.

So I closed my laptop and sighed loudly enough for my boyfriend at the time to hear me. He asked what was wrong, and I told him: perfect puppy, imperfect location.  “Where is she?” he asked.  I told him and he got this incredible grin on his face.  You see, he had a business meeting in Bentonville (home of Wal-Mart, folks) the next week.  My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.  I looked at him and said, “well, I can’t fight that.  Go get her.”  He agreed, we shipped a pet carrier to his hotel and a few days later, we had a bundle of insane joy in our apartment.

So in a million years I don’t think I’d ever work with a breeder to get a puppy again (rescue, rescue, rescue!), but years later, Emma is still that ridiculously cute little Gizmo, which is a good thing.  If she weren’t so damn cute, I might have put her up for adoption about a dozen times.  I’m still not sure I’m an adult, but I do know I’m in love with this fuzzbutt and if you’re in my life, you’d better be too.