Being Maria’s new puppy is a job. Don’t get me wrong; I love the old lady, but she is C.R.A.Z.Y.
The day I was adopted, she hugged and kissed me a little too hard. I mean, really, puppies’ spinal columns are as fragile as dandelion stalks.
Then, she had the audacity to put me in a pet carrier for the ride home. Hellllo! No. I was never crated or caged a day in my 8-week life and I wasn’t going to start now. I yelped incessantly the entire way home. At one point, she pulled over, put her head on the steering wheel, wept and kept saying: “What the hell have I done? What have I done?”
Mission accomplished. She took me out of the cage but she didn’t look like she wanted to hug me anymore. She did, however, look like she wanted to smother me with her special Breast & Chest Buddy Seatbelt Cushion (shameless plug).
I was so excited to be out of that carrier, I may have manifested that enthusiasm by aggressively pooping on the passenger’s seat. Like, a lot. I may have tinkled, too. We arrived home and she muttered: “I smell a stinker … Oh my God!”
She started to cry again, but then she abruptly ceased, saying: “Wait. This is Nancy’s car!” I don’ know what that meant, but it seemed to make her feel better and less angry at me. In fact, she giggled. A lot.
I then met Oliver, my stepbrother. He walked right by me, snout in the air. What the hell? We’re brothers now. We were supposed to bond and terrorize Maria together. If I didn’t have a cohort who would cover for me when I crapped in the walk-in shower, what was a Yorkie to do? He’d warm up to me once I started sharing my treats with him — or pretend to.
At any rate, Maria and I soon began “The Dance of the Outdoor BM-a-Thon.” You know the one I mean. She feeds me, gives me water, then scoops me up and takes me outside where she continuously chats: “Hurryupbeagoodboygotothebathroom. Hurryup Hurry up. Hurry. Up.” I love screwing with her by lying in the sun and not moving. Because … guess what? I pooped in her closet 15 minutes ago. She just hasn’t found that little nugget yet.
As we wait for my lower intestine to process that gross kibble, I … Oh look! Something shiny! I need to chase it in lieu of pooping! What is that? So much fun running in circles around Maria’s legs and cutting off all circulation. She looks like she may cry again. Oh. That shiny thing was the reflection of my dog tag in the sun. What a letdown. I thought it was a fairy.
You know what else is enjoyable? Leaving raw hides and bully sticks (please Google that. You won’t believe what they are made of …) up and down the hallway at night. I love when she wakes up three to four times (menopause) and scampers down the hallway in bare feet, hitting every doggy landmine along the way and yelling words I have never heard of in my entire life. They sound bad, though. Really bad.
Today, because it was 48 degrees outside and because she only has two settings – hot flash hot and ice, ice cold – she decided because she was freezing, I needed a sweater. A very thick and scratchy sweater. I was sweating my collar off. Oh, it was all very Ralph-Lauren-Meets-Canine-Country-Club, but people, trust me on this, if you were covered from the top of your head to the tips of your paws in fur, you wouldn’t need a sweater. Or a raincoat. Or a shawl. Or a bow tie. Or a Halloween costume.
Please just let us be.
If we’re cold, we’ll curl up in a ball and heat our own selves; no need to cloak us in wool and Sherpa. Would you put a lamb in an LL Bean crew neck? No. You would not.
She is a handful, this new owner of mine. With no kids in our house, however, I gluttonously receive inappropriate amounts of affection and love I have never before experienced. Sure, she dresses me in Fair Isle sweaters, but I can overlook that. She didn’t even yell at me when I pooped in her new moccasin this morning, and she keeps my bully stick inventory full. (By the way, after you Google that, keep in mind I joyously lick her face after chewing one).
My days and nights are so much better now that I am a member of the Heck Asylum. And life is good. Doggone it, I love this crazy lady already. I really, pawsitively do. Double woof.
Maria Jiunta Heck, of West Pittston, is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at firstname.lastname@example.org.