Goodie Four Paws

            “Don’t you eat that on my couch!” Ilana yells from the kitchen as I head towards the living room with my treat. My mouth is full of rubber, but I can almost taste the peanut butter stuffed inside the toy. The delicious nutty scent wafts to my nose and I start to salivate. Drips of drool leave a trail as I try to find a place to enjoy my snack.

            I can hear Scottie still in the kitchen, licking the peanut butter out of his KONG. That’s what Ilana calls the rubber toys she stuff the peanut butter in. She says they’re shaped like a bee hive, but I wouldn’t know if that’s true since the only thing about bees I’m an expert on is honey. Honey…

Wait! Peanut butter! Scottie just takes his treats and devours them right there and then. I don’t even think he swallows half the time. You can’t rush these things. You have to savor them, in a nice cozy spot—. I stand in the living room and survey my options. Hard wood floor, no. Couch. So inviting…I lean towards the couch.

            “Uh uh Mika! You know better!” Ilana stops me in my tracks. How does she even know what I’m going to do? There’s a wall in between us.

            I shake my head and turn to the big comfy chair. That seems like a good option. Ilana didn’t say anything about eating on the chair.

            “And don’t even think about the chair either!” the voice carries from the kitchen.

            “Humph!” I leave the living room and stalk through the rest of the house in search of the perfect treat devouring spot. Another couch, nope. A bed? Nope. I test the rug near the back doors, but it’s just not cozy enough.

            Finally I settle in Scottie’s crate. It’s nice and padded in there with a big blanket. And the munching and purring coming from the guinea pig cage above adds to the ambiance. I settle down and try to enjoy my treat.

            I hear Ilana come out of the kitchen and settle at the dining room table to do her art. I shake myself and concentrate on my treat. Holding the KONG down with both paws, I’m able to keep it in one place as I lick the peanut butter. But I just can’t get comfortable enough. Couch, couch, couch keeps running through my head. Like it’s whispering to me. I try to ignore it but the pull is too strong.

            As if I don’t have control of my own body, I pick up my treat in my mouth and sneak to the couch. I’m careful not to let my nails click on the floor so Ilana doesn’t notice me. Almost there…

            Yes! I’m up on the couch. Giving Ilana one eye to make sure she’s none the wiser, I begin to enjoy my treat.

            Time passes and Ilana still hasn’t noticed me. Scottie comes out licking his lips and settles on the floor at Ilana’s feet. She reaches down to pat him. I wince, waiting for her to notice me, but she doesn’t.

            I’ve cleaned about half of the peanut butter from the rubber when Ilana looks up and her eyes settle on me. I freeze. I can feel the anger wafting off Ilana but I don’t dare move.

            “Mika. What did I say?” Ilana’s voice is serious. “Off the couch.”

            I don’t move.

            Ilana puts down her pencil. “One. Two.”

            I wonder what comes after two. I’ve never tried to find out before.

            There’s a beat of silence. Ilana stares at me. I stare back at her. The space between us is full and hot.

            Scottie gets up. He walks over to me. He takes my KONG and drops it on the floor. He walks back to Ilana and lays at her feet again.

            “Good boy.” Ilana pats him. Scottie looks up at her and lolls his tongue. Ilana goes back to drawing.

            Scottie looks at me for a moment and I swear he’s grinning.

            Refusing to let him win. I pick up the KONG, lift my head high, and prance back into his crate. I’ll finish the whole thing in there and then I might just take a nap for good measure. After I roll my scent all over his blanket, that is.

Snow Day

First day of snow for the season in watercolor!

Word of the Month

Dog Induced Headache

[Dawg in-doosed hed-eyk]

noun

A pain located in the head brought on by a domesticated canid.

Occurs in one of two ways:

·         The dog barks so much that a headache is developed simply by hearing it.

·         The dog runs into you and bangs its large, thick scull against your own skull.

 The latter is infinitely more effective, especially if the dog happens to be Mika.

Ex: Mika ran straight into me when I was bent over, now I can feel a dog induced headache developing.

Mika Doesn't Know, but I Do

            This is happening. Mika is in the back seat. Sarah is sitting next to me in the passenger seat. There is a dog in the building waiting to meet us. My hands are clammy. My heart is racing. I grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves.

Why am I so worried? Mika was fine with Sammy. She really missed him when he passed.

Yes, but she has an issue with all other dogs. She’s too intense. It’s so much to deal with when that energy is in the form of a Pit Bull, how on earth is she ever going to get along with a new dog?

            She has to get along with this dog. I need her to. For both my sanity and hers, she needs a friend. This friend. I wish she would realize she’s her own worst enemy.

            I shake my head and concentrate on breathing. Worrying about what-ifs isn’t going to help. If I go in there nervous, both dogs will know it and it will be over before it starts.

            “Ready?” Sarah breaks the silence.

            “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I turn around and look at my chestnut dog. She cocks her head and smiles at me. “Will you just for once not go crazy when you get in there?”

            She continues to smile.

            I sigh and get out of the car. Sarah gets out too. We leave Mika in the car so we can meet the dog first. Gravel from the parking lot slips between my feet and flip-flops as we crunch our way to the Doggie Day Care building. A petite young woman greets us inside.

            “Ilana?” She asks, pushing her blond hair out of the way.

            I nod, “Hi. Are you Amber?”

            She smiles, “Yep. It’s great to finally meet you. Ready to meet Smokey?”

            We follow Amber to a large room, more like a huge garage. On one end there is a chain link gate. The floor is littered with dog toys and a couch stands in a corner. Smokey is playing with a toy in the middle of the room. He’s bigger than I thought. I guess he weighs about 60lbs, all of which is muscle. His ears are cropped so they stand up and what’s left of his fur is black, with white on his chest. For some reason, he’s missing the majority of his hair past his shoulders.

If I could change his name more drastically, I’d probably call him Bruce Wayne. Unfortunately, he’s already 11yrs old, so if I want to change his name, and I definitely  do, I need to change it to something that sounds similar to Smokey.

            The woman in the room with Smokey comes over to us and extends a hand, “I’m Cindy, we’re glad you’re here. This guy really deserves a home. He’s such a good boy.”

            We introduce ourselves and then Amber calls Smokey over. He lumbers up and sniffs us. The sniffing is loud and sounds more like he’s snorting at us. I pet his head since it’s the only place that has hair. “Do you know why he doesn’t have hair?” I ask.

            “No clue,” Amber says, “He doesn’t have a thyroid problem, that’s already been checked.”

            “It’s so weird,” Sarah says.

            “His old owners must have shaved him. It’s called ‘the ghetto flea treatment’. If there isn’t any hair, there must not be fleas, right?” Cindy is dripping sarcasm.

            “Do you think it will grow back?” I’d definitely prefer a dog with hair, although with the queen of brats in the car, I can’t afford to be so picky. If Smokey is everything else I need, then he’s coming home with or without hair.

            Cindy shrugs, “It’s hard to tell.”

            “Humm,” I frown. Then address the hairless wonder, “Well buddy, ready to meet your queen?” He looks up at me and wags his bald tail.

            Amber comes with us to the car. I open Mika’s door and put on her muzzle.

            “Just be good. Please like him. Please.” I tell her. I’m not sure she needs the muzzle, she isn’t actually aggressive. She’s just dominant and excited and it comes out as perceived aggression when she so much as sees another dog, usually. I think the muzzle is more for my nerves than to prevent any actual attack on Smokey.

            “What a pretty girl!” Amber says.

            “Thanks,” I say, trying to reign in my 50lb muscle dog. She’s smelled the other dogs and is straining at the leash to find them. I give the leash a jerk. “Quit it!” I tell Mika, “Relax,” that’s for both of us.

            We make it across the parking lot and inside the building in fits because I refuse to let myself be dragged. But when Mika sees Smokey, she makes a b-line for him. In a few moments she’s almost to him. I grab her collar and yank it back. “Enough!” I glare down at my dog and set my jaw. The way she’s acting, you’d never know she was loose leash trained. “Sit Down.”

            Mika does not sit. She stares at Smokey. Her hair is completely on end. I pinch her hips and she sits down. When I have a good hold on her, Cindy leads Smokey on his leash over to Mika so he can sniff her.

            Mika never takes her eyes off Smokey. ‘Grrrrrr’ rumbles from her throat. I yank her collar in a quick motion to snap her out of it. Smokey just sniffs her and wags his tail.

            When he’s made a full circle, Cindy has him sit so Mika can have her turn to sniff. I lead Mika over to Smokey. The fur on her back that was standing on end begins to fall as she sniffs. They seem to be doing fine together so at a signal from Cindy, I drop the leash. Cindy does the same.

            Free from human restraint, Smokey bounds into the center of the room and does a few laps around the perimeter. Mika joins him. I can tell she’s happy to have a canine friend again.

            “Do you think I should take her muzzle off?” I ask the ladies.

            “I think so, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with him,” Amber says.

            I call Mika over and relieve her of her muzzle. Her first reaction is to grab a toy and tease Smokey with it. I laugh at my ridiculous queen. Then a dog walks past the chain link gate.

            Mika drops the toy. My nerves come rushing back.

            Both Mika and Smokey run to the gate. Smokey barks, a deep, slow bark. Mika’s bark is not slow. Her barks are fast and loud. She pushes against the gate. Another dog walks by. Mika pushes harder at the metal, her bark growing in intensity. She looks at Smokey and for one awful moment my stomach drops. She’s going to redirect. She’s going to attack. I can’t even imagine what breaking up a serious Pit Bull fight would take.

            And then the moment passes. There is no fight, not even a growl directed towards Smokey. The intruding dogs are gone and forgotten.

            A wave of relief washes over me. This is going to work. I’m getting another dog, or rather, my dog is getting a dog. Just as soon as I change that ridiculous name of his.

                                                                       ***

Smokey, now Scottie, was 11yrs old when he was dumped in a kill shelter in Chicago, IL, and put on death row simply because of his age and breed. The amazing people at Chicago Land Bully Breed Rescue (CBBR) sprung him from “jail” and he hung out at a doggie daycare in Madison, WI until we met him and gave him his forever home. There are plenty of other incredible dogs waiting for their chance at a happily ever after. If you think your pack might have room for one more and for more information, visit CBBR’s website http://www.cbbr.org/

*The term Pit Bull is used loosely in this story. There is actually no Pit Bull dog breed. Pit Bull as a term is used to describe any dog with the bully breed characteristics of a muscular body, strong, set jaw, large head, etc.