Saturday, March 23, 2013
WILATU #34 - MY dog
Since #33 was Dogs, it was all too clear what #34 had to be. I am glad the is an open spot for this, because it didn't exist when the list was created, but it is by far one of my actual favorite things about the universe.
Now, time and again I have stated how the WILATU list is non-hierarchical. I am telling you right now, she would be as close to #1 as possible if it were. The unfathomable amount of sarcasm my blog title contains evaporates in her presence.
I have decided she also needs a blog name to protect her anonymity. She has a proper name, and a great, funny nickname my nephew gave her. There are two other things I call her which are less nicknames and more more situational references that are viable contenders for use here in the blogosphere.
The first is Princess Scruffina, which we typically call her when she is being...well, a little bitch. Also when she is in need of grooming. The second is the winner for her nomme de blog. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: The Destruct-o-Pup.
Red conceded long ago to the eventuality of our getting a dog, but even I admitted that the current Evil Lair was not the most well suited place. But we did not go looking for her, she came to us. The dog who was initially referred to as Puppy, Tiny, or Tiny Puppy, was abandoned at my place of monetary compensation work employment. I brought her home for a week while we were trying to find her owner, all the time knowing there was little chance that was going to happen.
I was reluctant even after that. It was never a foregone conclusion that she was going to be our dog. If you know a little bit about owning dogs, these 3 words should scare the shit out of you: Abandoned, Terrier, Puppy. Sweet Baby Jesus, I did not sleep for a month straight. She was as close to a cartoon cloud of two dogs fighting as one real dog could be on her own. Imagine snapping a leash on that and taking it for a walk. Imagine that walk happening three to five times a day. Including unscheduled wee hours jaunts wearing pajamas and a down jacket. If we did have a cat, it would have been living on the ceiling.
We're about a year into it now and it has come to light how lucky we were to exert the patience and put the time and effort into training her. She is by no means now a proper Lady, but she is also far from the Dickensian street urchin we took in. Around six months into it, she let her guard down and started showing some affection. Now she gives me the full Dino treatment every time I come home.
Red, while still holding fast on the "no licking above the neck" rule, has also let her guard down. No one is immune to the charms of the soft puppy ears, or the warmth of a ball of fur curled up beside you. The self-esteem boost of a tail that is wagging just for you is absurdly disproportionate to what a rational mind would estimate it at. But Red also knows the score. Destruct-o-Pup's sun and moon still rise and set on the Evil Genius.
That damn dog still follows me around like... well, there's got to be some good idiomatic analogy out there for it.