I Love Dogs!

I feel like my day was ripped from the pages of a screwball comedy. I've had the pleasure and privilege to take care of three dogs today. Not by choice, mind you, by default. At least if I had known what I was getting into, I could have mentally prepared. Alas, I haven't been this mad at a dog(s) since Hopper ate my Liz Phair CD. I cried extraordinarily large, hot, white tears.


Our three stars:

Hopper-You know her. She's my little lady.

Cillian-My roommates little lady.

Stanley-My roommate's friend's puppy in which she was taking care of this weekend.

The set-up:

Roommate unexpectedly had to go elsewhere for the evening last night and much of the day today. Leaving me with default doggy duty.



My day began as the sun rose and woke little Stanley up. It was about six am. He decided that it was time to chew my headband, a hole in my carpet, and then wake his friends. Hopper, being well-trained to not rise before me, held her position on my bed, but Cillian was up and ready to play. When I refused to open my door, and let loose the herd to run rampidly through the house, no doubt waking my downstairs neighbors and thoroughly pissing them off, they revolted against me. All jumping on my bed, BARKING, AT ME, to wake up.

Barking. Enter my new pet peeve. Newly discovered. Barking, incessantly that is, dogs. Dogs that bark at every noise they hear, and that won't stop with a simple "Shut up!" Multiple dogs doing this may be a cause of death for me in the future. I nearly climbed out my window right then and there. Luckily, for your entertainment pleasure, I decided against it.

Not so luckily, these dogs were up. Up and not going back to sleep with any traditional methods of persuasion. Tranquilizers weren't at my disposal. Stanley, being an un-housetrained puppy, had to immediately be taken out. He's nearly eight months so I'm not exactly sure why he's not completely housetrained. But he's not, and he doesn't seem to care when you rub his face in his mistakes.

So I rolled out of bed with probably a picturesque face and an attitude that even coffee wouldn't fix. The second I got off the bed, the dogs were running around in circles and bounding all over the place, surely waking the neighbors, despite my best efforts.

Walking three dogs is hard enough. When they all want to go in different directions and love twisting up in each other's leashes, it's far worse. Stanley thought it was a good idea to pee on Hopper while she was peeing and Cillian saw a squirrel. I silently pleaded for my roommates timely return. Some how I made it through the morning, which is actually pretty long when you wake up at six. I had to seperate the dogs quite a bit in the early hours, still trying to keep the pretense of quiet.

By ten, when I hear the downstairs people mulling around, I let them be the wild animals they had wanted to be. What do they do? Sleep! Of course! By this time I had three cups of coffee pumping through my veins so no sleep for me.

Stanley then proceeds to poop in the den and pee in my room. Lovely. This is right after me taking them out again, mind you. And on this trip, instead of actually going to the bathroom, (obviously), Stanley thought it was a good idea to chase at a frou-frou dog of a not-so-friendly neighbor. When we get back in, he goes for my sunglasses, actually in the process of chomping down on them, and I yell at him louder than I've yelled at any other living thing ever. He smiled at me a wagged his tail. Infuriating.

At lunch, I take the dogs in the car to get some well-deserved lunch, (for me). Here, they were surprisingly well-behaved. Looking back, perhaps I should have just driven around all day.

Home again, Cillian, in the hopes that every car passing by was her mother returning home, found it important to bark as loudly as possible in case roommate was to miss the turn. She also found her release of energy in taunting Hopper all day, trying to get her to fight. Which with Stanley's presence, these two fighting is not an anomaly.

By nightfall, with roommate still not back, I knew I had to take the dogs out again. Courageously, I leashed them up and went where few have gone before. (I'm an exaggerator by nature.) The highlight of this walk was, beside the comically twisted leashes throughout and the three near trips of yours truly, was when Stanley's leash got stuck, somehow, inside of Hopper's collar. While I was trying to keep the dogs still long enough to untangle, Cillian decides now is a perfect time to finally get a snap in on Hopper. While my head is right by Hopper's face, she starts trying to bait Hopper into a fight. When I yank her leash, Hopper yelps and I realize I have yanked the wrong leash. At this point, what can you do but tredge on and go home and drink at beer at 7 o'clock on a Sunday evening? Nothing. So with choas around me, I sat here, where I am still, trying to ignore the loud barks and bounding dogs throughout the house.

I'm officially taking myself off doggy duty. Come hell or low water.