Being part poodle, I consider myself to be a refined animal. Though I realize this is a stereotype, you must admit, we are a sophisticated breed.
At my house our radio is set to NPR, we watch only educational TV, like The History Channel, and we read lots of books. (Mom also watches American Idol, but asked me not to mention that) It’s a cultured, peaceful life that I have come to love and adore.
So you can imagine my surprise when Mom comes home with this backwoods trollop who strolls into the living room and proceeds to take a crap on Tommy’s favorite Oriental rug.
Side note: Please don’t judge me for not calling Tommy “Dad.” Mom married him 21 years ago (that’s 3 years to you readers) and while I didn’t like him at first, it turns out- he’s a pretty great guy. But Mom and I were together way before they ever met- so calling him Dad just feels wrong.
Back to the situation at hand:
My delicate senses have been assaulted and the offensive force has come in the form of a Jack Russell Terrier/ Beagle mix named Abby. The less intelligent among us might call her a “Jack-a-bee.” She has short, coarse, funny smelling hair (not soft and perfumed like yours truly) and big black freckles on her skin.
She runs indoors, jumps on the furniture, pulls the stuffing from Jeanie’s beloved bed and that was all on the first day! The list of infractions is numerous, and counting. This girl is out of control; she is rowdy and, my God- does not even know her basic commands. She jumps on the humans every damn time they walk through the door. I shout: “Abby!, they were only gone for 10 minutes, geez”. It doesn’t help. No manners whatsoever! Have I mentioned I am cultured and refined?
For the next week Abby continues to poop in the house. She pooped in the bedroom, the basement, the attic, the hallway; you name the place- she pooped there. On the rare occasion when she does do her business outside- Mom drops to her knees bellowing praises and doling out treats: you’d think Abby had solid gold nuggets flying out out of her ass. As a result: Abby now sleeps in a crate in the kitchen. I feign concern, but inside I am humming “na na na boo boo.”
Mom seems despondent. She types away on the computer with her rescue friends, looking for advice. Tonight I feel her worry: “maybe I’m just not cut out for this.” Tommy is less than thrilled. In his defense, he loved that rug- which is currently rolled up at the curb for Tuesday morning garbage pickup.
On the positive side, it ends up this Abby character is pretty bright. Mom taught her the command for “sit” in one day. Not bad! The jumping problem is solved in 3 lessons by giving her treats when she remains “down”. Walking on a leash? She got that after 5 short walks. She may be rough around the edges- but damn, is she smart. Plus- the people we meet while out walking on the trail all say she is beautiful, I don’t see it, but it’s still nice to hear. Mom walks a little taller.
Still and all, everyone is hoping this mutt gets adopted soon.
PS I got a short email from Jeanie today. God was I glad to hear from her.
Dear BB, thanks for letting me stay with you while I was in transition. Just writing to let you to know-I have hit the rescue dog jackpot! I now have 2 have devoted parents, a fenced in yard- (with a pool!) and a normal sized dog to play with (no offense). Life doesn’t get better then this. Last week my new sister and I went to a doggie spa and my fur still emits a hint of lavender. Guess I can’t tease you about being a sissy boy with a mobile dog groomer anymore-haha. All I ever wanted is what you had…and now I do!
Talk to you later sissy boy.
Please give the fat one a kiss for me,