Warning: Bodily Functions Ahead

When will I learn my lesson?  Leftovers are a vicious circle in our house.  I've tried tobe better but I always end up making too much food.  We enevitably have leftovers.  We store them in plastic bowls and whatnots with the intention of eating it later.  But later never happens. 

Who's your daddy?

I married my father. I did not set out in a Freudian attempt to make that happen. And a part of me wonders if this is a natural progression for Juanito since he does admire my Dad. None the less, the transformation has begun.

Let me give you a little back story. Growing up we had a family dog. She was a miniature Schnauzer and her name was Muffie. To my sister and me, she was the youngest sibling we never had.  She was also the single best doll we had (which is saying a lot in comparison to the Cabbage Patch craze we grew up in) because we could feed her and put her in real baby clothes and make her sleep in our old bassinet and drink from a bottle.  Ah, such fun!

Unfortunately my Dad did not recognize her as his fourth daughter. When we first got her, from the Easter Bunny, she came with a fake, plastic turkey leg that squeaked. And she was known for lying around, gnawing on it which meant there was more often than not, an incessant squeaking sound. We speculated that she loved the sound more than the chewing.  My Dad’s solution was to duct tape the squeaky end. She still gnawed away on it but eventually the pressure of the trapped air and her chewing blew a hole in the leg. She eventually chewed that hole to a bigger hole, which we would hook our finger into in order to get that damn thing away from her. Over time the hole grew to the point that the once squeaky end dangled like a scab and eventually fell off. She loved that leg until the day it died.

My Dad’s approach to small problems like that has always been practical in nature but perhaps absurd in execution. Years later another dog joined Muffie, my dog, Mickey. Apparently there was too much nocturnal activity for my Dad because he would bitch and moan about their tags on their collars. They were always clinking together and waking him up. Perhaps, looking back on this, Dad needed some medicinal sleep aid??? So the practical solution, again involving duct tape, was to tape their tags together. (which reads to me "tape their legs together" which is absurd but not practical)   When the tape got matted into Muffie's chest hair, the tape was removed but quickly replaced by Dad. Probably a good thing that both dogs were fiercely loyal and never strayed far.  If they had no one would have been able to read the oh-so-helpful tags of information in such event.

Fast forward to current day and socks have replaced duct tape as the practical tool with an absurd implementation. You see, apparently Alfie and Cassidy have been doing some nocturnal grooming. And the constant slurp, slurp, slurp has woken Juanito one time too many times. The other night while getting ready for bed he starts talking to Cass while opening the doors on his dresser, telling her he loved her but the night time bathing had to stop. He pulls out an armful of rolled up work socks and puts them on his bedside table. I asked him if he was loading up on ammunition and he nodded. He is tired of the early morning antics (or middle of the night) and is willing to fire off a set of socks at the first sound.  No warnings. Which by the way the antics are not limited to just grooming. Cassidy has a delightful way of letting you know she is ready to eat, at any time. It involves spinning, panting, occasional nudges and a grunt/pant mixture whenever you twitch or move. It is hands down one of the most annoying things I have ever had a dog do. And Muffie used to eat sanitary napkins out of the trash can.
So the past few mornings I have woken up to a few pairs of socks scattered about the room. I haven't heard if this is a successful endeavor or not. But I did just get an email from Juanito…..

From: Juanito
Sent: Thursday, September 20, 2012 12:54 PM
To: Likethewrap
Subject: RE:Dogs

I think Cass called me a dick when I threw my sock at her last night.
________________________________________

From: Likethewrap
To: Juanito
Subject: RE: Dogs
Date: Thu, 20 Sep 2012 19:58:39 +0000

Probably. I saw two sets on the floor this morning.  What is she cleaning? Or is this just her spinning?
________________________________________

From: Juanito
Sent: Thursday, September 20, 2012 12:54 PMTo: LikethewrapSubject: RE: Dogs

They both were cleaning
________________________________________

I see this as the first step to Juanito morphing into my Dad.  One practical step at a time. 

I will let you know when I go to bed later than him and get hit with a pair of socks, which might happen next week.

D-O-G to the Dizzle

If Cassidy is our oldest then Alfie is most definitely the middle child of our family, complete with issues and all. After the disappearance of Tuzigut, the Pavlovian cat we had for a short time, we decided that there was an opening in the Pet Department of our house. We were looking to hire a canine this time but we weren’t sure what kind. The guidelines were merely that it must fit through the doggie door, which meant no Great Danes (this time, sorry Juanito). Also it could not be so small that it might a) fit in a purse or b) be mistaken for a ball of some sort. Juanito’s fear was to accidentally punt an animal across a room.

So one day Juanito sends me a picture of this face:

This sweet little face.....

At first glance my heart melted and the theme song to Snoopy played in my head. I don’t know why. I emailed that I wanted him. It was the most definitive decision I’ve ever made. (which is kinda sad since I got married and bought a house, two major decisions that I apparently wasn’t as sure about as I was about a dog.)

Anywho…..that started the process of adopting a rescued animal. I would say that adopting a dog is much like adopting a baby from China but I think that might be a bit of a hyperbole. Needless to say it did involve home visits and background checks, money exchange, and visitations between Cass and Alfie to make sure they were compatible. It did not take years, passports or attorneys to achieve though so its not EXACTLY like adopting from China. But because he was a puppy the rescue had quite a bit of interest in him. They warned that we might not get him because there was so much interest, but we ultimately won! So five years ago this August (I believe) we brought home Alfie.

Alfie is the name he came with. While we might not be over the moon about this name, I think it’s cruel to rename a dog after you adopt them so we never changed it. (No one gets to rename the kid they adopted out of the foster system do they? Really. Do they? Is that ok?) Needless to say he has received many nick names over the years: Alf, Alfredo, Alfarunie, Dingus One or Two, Alfie Baby and most notably Asshole.

You see Alfie lived a life on the lamb for his first year. He was a repeat offender of a nearby county animal control system. To quote City High he’s been “in and out of lock-down” but I’m not sure if his daddy’s been smoking rock now. I'm pretty sure he learned how to make a shiv (had to Google how to spell that which is totally suspect while at work) and how to lay low and get in good with the guards and all the other things you can learn by watching Locked Up on MSNBC.  What I'm saying is that when we got him he had seen some stuff which left him with a rough, crusty exterior.

Can’t you tell?

With my mind on my money and my money on my mind

He went for a while where he would have what we called "night terrors." Back then he would sleep at the foot of our bed which made our bed quite cozy with Juanito, Cass, Alf and me on the queen-size. But if you should toss or turn in the middle of the night and GOD FORBID touch him with your feet he became a Ninja Basset and attacked your feet. Now mind you this wasn’t like he was a cat lying in wait for your foot to suddenly move. This was full on reaction to your fucking foot encroaching on HIS territory and he was gonna fuck a bitch up. When it happened to you, you would bolt awake because 1. The dog is growling his mean loud growl which usually means someone is in the house. 2. THERE IS SOMEONE EATING YOUR LEG! 3. You’re yelling like your leg is being eaten. But then in a blink of an eye you both realize what is going and I swear to God Alfie would spit what remains of your foot out, jump off the bed and hide in the living room. It was traumatic for everyone.

And while I don’t think he attacked our feet out of malice there have been a number of instances that earned him the name Asshole. There was the time he attacked Cass, well there were a couple of those times. There was the time he ran away and I chased him and he attacked me in front of the neighbor’s house and no one came outside to help me. That’s a warm memory. Or the one time I had him in a choke-hold and another time pinned against the kitchen cabinets both over food issues. Those were some lovely bruises I blamed Juanito on when questioned at work.

What I’m saying is he has earned those names. He might even need a little bit of therapy from his hard-knock life. And while I’m afraid to pick him up for fear of losing my face to him much like that lady who was attacked by her pet gorilla, I love him. He is an asshole. He is a grumpy old man.   But he is warm, soft and totally cuddly (on his terms).  I see my worse traits in him and he makes them soft and cuddly. He is the antonym of an anthropomorphic me. Just be careful, he’s grumpy, has teeth and more than likely a melted down tooth brush in his butt.

Sweet Alfie Baby

If you're interested in adopting your own sweet gang-banging basset check out

http://azbassetrescue.org/ 

Dog Parallelism

Tethered to my computer by my headphones and reminded of a chained dog.  Good thing ear buds pop out opposed to pull you back and flip you on your ass.