Things Beau Despises
Admittedly this is a very long list, as this dog hates just about everything. The wind, a cloud going over the sun, me whining about him farting in bed, not getting to eat my parasitology notes anymore. But lately, he’s getting more and more set in his ways, and I suppose that’s about right. He’s hitting middle-age, and as far as I know, dogs don’t have crises where they reinvent themselves. They settle right in to being crotchety and they look at their 5th birthdays (that would be 35 in dog years) as a good excuse to hog the bed AND the sofa. And Beau is ahead of his curve. He’s more like 100 in dog years, or any years for that matter, and in addition to hogging the sofa and bed, he’s become very opinionated about some recent habits of mine. Thus the spurring of this list.
Top 5 Things Beau Despises:
1. Good books. Apparently the long hours I spend in my classic PJs with a cup or two or four of green tea is just unacceptable when he is wasting away from lack of love in the corner.
2. Not getting invited for a trip. Especially when there is company. He will bark and howl at the laundry room door. Even if it’s just to the grocery store and back. When I go to school, he could care less. But any other time, he better get invited or he will be even more obnoxious (if that’s possible).
3. Wind. No explanation, but it’s pretty damn scary, apparently.
4. My new bicycle. Well, he doesn’t hate it yet, but he will. Because that thing is a dream and I plan on becoming one with the bike at every opportunity possible. There is a lot of adrenaline associated with being stuck to your bike via clipless pedals.
5. Getting up at 6 a.m. Usually he’s very eager to get up and potty and get breakfast. But with my new work hours, I have to be at school at 7 a.m. and that’s just not working for the moose.
At least he finally got over his hate for windchimes, bird feeders, the weedeater, being alone outside (thank God for Buster Cubes, Molecuballs and Kongs stuffed with goodies), construction noise and loud bass from passerby (or parked) vehicles.
Ah well, at least life is more interesting this way.
Also, I might get a cat, but we will see.
better than hanging out with humans, can't imagine life without them | Comment (0)Guilty Pleasures
One of the reasons I am sure that Beau and I were meant for each other is that we are both incredibly, severely, irrevocably, creatures of habit. I like things to go in a certain order, he also enjoys the comforts of things remaining predictable and in a pattern easy on the mind. Sometimes he does try and revv up the schedule a little, or should I say, excessively early, but he is for the most part and incredibly predictable animal. Rather like myself. But you know, sometimes once in a blue moon I have to pee in the middle of the night, so why shouldn’t he also be able to stick his cold wet nose into my eye to ask to be let out at 3:47 a.m. four nights in a row during mid-term week? It’s only fair.
The alarm goes off at 7:15 a.m. most mornings, which in reality is actually 6:59 a.m., but in that hazy sleepy state reminiscent of alcohol overload or hours of memorizing parasites of veterinary importance, my brain says, “SHIT! SHIT! YOU ARE LATE, GET UP! getupgetupgetupgetupgetupgetup!!!!11!!!111!” So we scramble out of bed and, first things first, Beau gets to go outside to potty and then he gets his breakfast. Nevermind the fact that it’s gotten rather chilly in the mornings here - not arctic or anything, but I probably should be wearing more than a slight pair of knickers, even they even qualify for that much - and my stomach is growling and my body still smells of yesterday - Beau is No. 1 in not just my book, but that of the Order Of The Universe, and thus he gets his 1/2 cup kibble, 1/5 can beef breakfast and a little purple 0.6 mg Levothyroxine. At least my hair looks awesome because for some reason, I can sleep with my bobby pins and it still looks the same in the morning. Weird, I know.
After my shower it’s time for my coffee (a latte really, thank god for personal espresso machines) and my breakfast. And a gummy vitamin (the person who invented those should get a nobel prize for nutrition-not-the-size-of-a-gd-horse-pill). And then it’s time for guilty pleasure number one. Beau is asleep in his bed again, probably dozing in a happy food coma with his empty bladder, and I switch on the morning news (CBS, it’s all I can get over the rabbit ears and it’s in Hi-Def) and down my cereal or oatmeal or muffin, and then for the next 20 minutes I watch the news and sip my coffee. I cannot express in words how delightful this little morning ritual is. I feel so guiltily sinfully happy as I smell the decadant hazelnut aroma and taste a hint of cinnamon with each sip. And my house is always cold in the mornings so it’s a good way to warm up, to get the blood flowing again. Not to mention that without my morning latte - parasitology is seriously just not going to happen at 9 a.m.
Guilty Pleasure Number Two is when I get home. I finally got Beau to stop playing the washboard on my laundry room door as soon as he hears the garage door go up (don’t ask how, one day he just stopped), and he waits patiently. He doesn’t wag his tail, he doesn’t perk his ears (I can see him through the slats). As soon as I call out to him, his ears go up, as soon as I open the door, he takes one moment to make sure it’s me, and then he bursts into his octopus/worm dog act and can no longer contain his excitement. He follows me around, he high-fives me, he won’t let me do anything else, not even pee in privacy, until he gets a satisfactory amount of scratching, patting, hearty thumps on the chest and of course, a cookie for going out side and going potty. And of course, this happens every day, everytime I come home in fact. It’s habit.
Guilty pleasure number three is part of the routine of emergency situations. Examples of emergency situations include: Loud noise in the dark of night, thunderstorm in the dark of night, house creaking in the dark of night and noseeums in the dark of night. I wake up in the dark, disoriented, probably from a good dream, and Beau is staring wild eyed at the foot of my bed, directly at me as if he can see through my soul. Or he’s pacing in and out of the kitchen, his toes clickety-clacking on the laminate. Every time he comes in to my room, he shoves a wet nose onto the most accessible piece of my body (this is why I sleep with the covers over my head now mostly) and then proceeds to saunter slowly around the kitchen and back. The only way to get him to cease and desist such irritating behavior is to throw open the sheets and pat the mattress. Usually before I can say, “up!” he’s there, pupils like saucers and ears flat on the back of his head with a tucked tail, curling up into the smallest possible ball that he can make right in the crook of my body. Beau has technically been banned from the bed since we moved - white comforter cover and all that I have now - but on these nights when he can’t sleep, and by proxy also does not allow me to sleep (misery loves company I suppose) - he’s under the covers with me and I once again get the great pleasure of snuggling up close to him. Usually I have to go turn the A/C down a degree or two though in order to keep his hot furry body from cooking me slowly like a crockpot.
better than hanging out with humans, musings, there's nothing wrong with being quirky | Comment (0)
More Madness
I seem to be unable to escape a life in which canine madness predominates. And by this I mean, even though Faye went to a wonderful new home on a ranch with three adorable boys who are madly in love with her, I once again find myself with two grumpy canines in the house and a never ending cycle of opening the backdoor to let them in or out or to just stand there and stare, and continuously dirty food bowls, paw prints on the floor, and little tumbleweeds of hair drifting about in the currents of the A/C. And not to mention that one of the dogs currently staying with me is the Queen Of All Things herself, and she won’t let me forget (not in a million years) that Her Opinion Matters Most (and no one elses’ ever matters).
Beau is not so happy with this arrangement. I saw a drastic improvement in his behavior once Faye left (can we say, war over the sofa, 24/7 wiggleworm and running 4 miles a day with continual hyperactivity??) and for two weeks or so things were as normal as they ever are around here. Then Penny showed up and he gave me the, oh-no-you-friggin’-don’t look, and now it’s a competition to see who can behave more badly, who can be loudest, and who can possible act the most jealous. Beau pretty much ignores Penny as much as he ignored Faye - but the problem in this is that Penny is short, fat and geriatric, and she hates to be ignored - hates ever more to be trod on by a large grey and white galumping moose. Every five seconds she is expressing her displeasure that he should be within a twenty mile radius of her royal self, despite the fact that this is Beau’s house and I am doing Penny a favor by keeping her here and not banishing her to the kennel (even if the kennel won’t take her anymore). The crazy bat queen must have her way at all times and immediately or there is several minutes of growling, barking and snarling while slithering around on the floor on her good front legs and gimpy back ones, oddly reminiscent of one of those dancing-flower fireworks.
My parents (and brother) are happily galavanting about in cool, beautiful, scenic and interesting San Fransisco. I, on the other hand, am stuck in hot, muggy and rainless Texas with a large grumpy moose who hates company, and a small fat badger that hates everything. Which is all fine when they are at their respective houses with their respective slaves to wait on them hand and foot - it’s when we get these two irascible creatures together that canine madness ensues. Here I am trying to write a parasitology paper on Hydatid Disease with moose grumblings in the background because it’s been twenty minutes since he last ate and angry badger opinions being spat at me from behind him because HOW DARE HE SPEAK IN HER PRESENCE.
I am going out of my mind at the present moment.
Saturday cannot come soon enough.
better than hanging out with humans, moose on the loose, pack mentality | Comment (0)