Tag: #Dog

  • Happy Easter

  • Our Dog Smells Bad

    (This is a Flash Fiction piece that I am releasing to the world…)

    No matter what we do, the dog always smells bad. And when I say, “smells bad,” it’s a smell combination of a “wet dog,” and corn nuts. We bathe her with expensive shampoos and conditioners, one’s specifically for serious, industrial grade dog odor. It only holds for a day or two. Then she returns back to her stink. Sometimes with a smile.

    We asked the vet about it, and she said that some dogs smell – it’s just who they are. But she ran a couple of tests anyway, to make sure there wasn’t an infection or something worse. Nope, the dog was fine. Her teeth and gums were fine, bloodwork was fine, pee and poop was fine. No signs of infections or parasites. No cancer, no ticks, no fleas, nothing. The vet suggested that we change her diet, maybe that would help. And to be safe, the vet thought it best to shame us – “This is who your dog is, maybe you should learn to accept her.” I accept the dog, just not the smell.

    She’s a mix of shih tzu and something else small. Maybe a chihuahua, maybe a wiener dog. We rescued her from a puppy mill, or at least that’s what we were told when we adopted her. She was a sad sack of a lost cause – a little under fed, and not looking happy to be rescued. While the other dogs wagged their tails, and jumped for attention, our dog just lay there on the cold linoleum floor – looking like she’d given up on life. She didn’t exactly exude the traditional joy and happiness that a dog brings to your life. She was giving off a “I’m going to get picked last” vibe. What can I say; I was always picked last. It just seemed fitting. 

    We wanted an animal in our life; my wife wanted a dog, and I wanted a cat. The animal adoption event at the Paramus Petco only had dogs, though the Facebook posting said cats would be available. But when you walk on the lot, you gotta buy. We just assumed that the bad smell was due to neglect. How were we to know it was a factory setting. We made sure we added pet shampoo to our overflowing cart of pet supplies at the store.

    She was nervous to come home with us; shook the whole way. The wife wrapped her in a blanket from the trunk to see if that would calm her down. It didn’t. She shivered but didn’t make a sound. At home, we fed her and bathed her, and let her explore our apartment. We sat on the couch and watched her sniff around wondering what she would do next, which was to take a big poop in the middle of the living room. In hindsight, we should have walked her when we got home.

    Walking her was an enlightening adventure. We discovered that our dog hated all other dogs. Our little dog displayed a level of animosity and rage that I didn’t think was possible for an animal. She would growl, hiss, and bark. Spit would fly out of her mouth, and her fur would stand up. Possession might be a good word to use – as it was like the Devil entered her body. And it didn’t matter what the other dog’s reaction was, our little guy still wanted to kill them. Once, she pulled so hard on her leash, she almost chocked herself out. So, walks became a game of avoiding other dogs.

    Before you ask, yes we tried all the training tricks to get her to be more comfortable around other dogs. We tried treats, and positive reinforcements, a firm hand, and all that other dog whisperer shit. Nothing took. We had a neighbor in our building who was a dog walker. She was positive she could train our dog. After three days, even she gave up. And she couldn’t figure it out either. Why was the dog so nice to people, but when another dog came around, she devolved into a demon? It’s just who she is, we told the neighbor, and we accept that this is who she is.

  • Another Monday, Dog Grooming Edition

    Yet another Monday, and I am looking at a blank computer screen. At least I was until I just forced myself to start typing something. Because this isn’t writing, it’s typing.

    What I am really doing at this hour is waiting for the dog groomer to call so I can go get our dog. (I have mentioned before that I am not a huge fan of the word “grooming” when it comes to dog hair maintenance, but I may need to just accept that this is the term that everyone has decided to use.) They said the dog would be ready, at most, in three hours, and now that we are at the three-and-a-half-hour mark, I have started to wonder at what state is the progress in? No matter what, I will call them at the four-hour mark, as I have to pick up a kid from school, and I have some other things that I need to accomplish today as well.

    As such, I am here on the couch in a holding pattern on this rather nice day. No rain for this Monday, as compared to the last few. No, this is an actual Spring day, windows open due to the sixty degrees outside. It is the type of weather that makes me optimistic, and forgiving.

    And I think about the things that are coming for me. That taxes are due tomorrow, and we need to pay down some more of our debt. There is a college fund that should receive some additional dollars, and most importantly, I try to stay positive about owning a home one day. A home out of the City, in the country, but not too far away so I can live a lifestyle that is aggressively just beyond the touch of my fingertips.

    Then my wife texts me to say that she hasn’t heard from the groomers, and that I need to call and go get the dog.

    Such is this Monday.

  • ODDS and ENDS: The Dog Groomer, Fart in French, and Ice Cream

    (We’re all excited, but we don’t know why…)

    I love my dog. I always thought of myself as a cat person, but once we got the dog… well, I’m still a cat guy, but I do want to have a dog from here on out. And loving my dog, means loving all of her, including the bad stuff that she does. Which is very little, I might add. What the dog does that drives us nuts, and we haven’t been able to get her to stop, is that the dog goes ape-shit anytime she sees another dog. Like growling, and barking, and trying to break free from the leash so she can go and kill that other dog. It can make taking her for a walk a very challenging endeavor. Anyway, so when we take the dog to the groomers, the dog does her normal stuff when she sees the other dogs getting groomed, she goes bananas. So, we leave her, and when we come back to the groomers, they tell us how great of a dog she was; so kind, nice, and friendly. And we’ll ask if our dog was this nice version, even when other dogs were around, and the groomers tells us yes; that our dog was even friendly to the other dogs. This has happened enough times over the past five years, that I have come down to one of two conclusions; the groomers are telling us lies because no one wants to hear that their dog is an asshole, or our dog puts on this tough act in front of other dogs only when we’re around.

    My mother was a very proper woman. You had to really make her mad to swear, and she did embarrass easy. Yet, she raised three boys, and there was a lot of farting. BUT, my mother never said the word fart. No, that would be most improper. As she was raised in a French-American home, she did bring one, and only one, French term into our lives; péter. (That’s French for fart.) For the first several years of my life, I thought everyone also used the word péter. When I got to school, I learned quickly that no one used this word. Yet, the tern stuck with me, and in honor of my French heritage, I have made sure that my daughter knows that péter means fart in French.

    And, I want ice cream for dinner.

  • Our Dog

    My dog smells awful. Even when we bathe her, we only get 48 hours, tops, of the dog not smelling. Then like some sort of magic, the dog begins to take on an odor. Within seven days after the bath, the dog is back to being the little gray bag of stinkiness.

    And we love her.

    She’s great with people and kids, but she cannot be around other dogs because she wants to rip their faces off. Sure, you could say it’s a little dog thing, but when we our neighbor watches the dog and walks her, the dog is just a pure, wonderful angel from heaven. The neighbor won’t say it, but the issue is us. If the dog is only aggressive when she is around us, then we must be the cause. It’s beyond annoying because she’s such a good dog with people…

    But we love the dog.

    The dog is sleeping at the end of the bed as I write this. Every now and then, she’ll open an eye and look at me, only to go back to sleep. Most days, the dog is with my wife, under her feet and desk. The dog has imprinted on my wife, clearly thinks she’s the Alpha around here, not that I would completely disagree with that. So, when the dog follows me around, either the wife is gone, or… Actually, I’m not sure why the dog is with me today. Perhaps that dog wanted to sleep on the bed, and I just happen to be here.

    I’ll take what I can get.