Dog-Sitter

So, the past two days have been filled with fun, joy, laughter, video games, and dog-sitting. Yes. Dog-sitting. I have always been a fan of dogs (Canis lupus familiaris), so when my wife told me we were temporarily adopting her mother’s pup, my heart may have slightly jumped out of subtle excitement. Her name is Lacie and she is a 1/2 Maltese + 1/2 toy poodle, which = “Malte-poo”. In addition, this pooch is probably one of the cutest ones on the planet (yes, I did write “cutest”) so she’s easy to like. She looks like a rabbit when she runs. Who doesn’t like rabbits? Exactly. Moving on. The most important piece of intel I gathered through my experience is that I really like dogs when they aren’t MY responsibility. When it’s your dog I’m hangin’ with, it’s good times. Relaxing, good talks, hop-scotch, sun bathing, ice cream sundaes, camp outs, etc. When the mongrel is MY responsibility at MY house, I turn into Gunnery Sergeant R. Lee Ermy.

The problem I ran into is that I do not have near as much energy and time to do everything the dog wants to do. Every 2 minutes it’s like “Uncle Chad, play catch with me!” or “Uncle Chad, wrestle with me!” or “Uncle Chad, feed me!” or “Uncle Chad, take me out for a poopie!”. If dogs could talk that’s what she was saying. I tried to enjoy a relaxing afternoon before we went out for my friends party. I am sitting on the couch while my wife is studying, and Lacie is sprinting, twirling, jumping, and squeaky her squeaky toy at a raging 82 squeaks per minute. I am slightly nettled at this point and ask her to quiet down and watch the game with me. She gives me the look of the annoying 3rd grade kid thats speaks without words, “I don’t have to listen to you, you’re not my dad.” She continues to frolic regardless of my tone. Steph suggests I take her outside for a second to burn off some energy and mark her territory. I agreed.

I knew the moment I exited the apartment that this was going to take much more than a second. Lacie darts down the stairs and gives me another look like, “I’ll see ya in anotha life brotha!” I think to myself, “Oh, great.” I follow her down the stairs and watch her run around the grass, sniffing plants, bugs, dried leaves, and her fecal material from the night before. I try to play it cool and put out that vibe like, “I don’t care if you run away, I’m just relaxing.” All the while she can see right through me. She knows I’m thinking, “Please don’t run. Please don’t run. Please don’t run.” After about 6 minutes I figure it’s about time to start reelin’ this thing in. I gently roll off a couple “Let’s go Lacie”’s to get her attention. She doesn’t even acknowledge. I repeat a little louder. Still nothing. I find myself at a crossroads. I have two options. 1) I abort the immediate exit strategy, prentend it never happened, and try again in 5 minutes. 2) Put my foot down, let her know I am in charge, and call in the artillery. I choose the latter. R. Lee Ermy time. I raise my voice and demand her attention. She trots in my direction. “Wow, that was easy.” Wrong. I take one step towards her and she bolts in the opposite direction. Sprinting. What have I done?! I begin to yell louder. I am getting angry. Answer me dog!! She is running. I am following. More running. Crap. This sucks. I take a break to assess what has happened. It’s about 95 degrees outside and I am now roughly 75 yards away from where we started. Sweat, and lots of it. Lacie is 10 yards from me, but I can’t get any closer. At this point I look her in the eyes and say, “I don’t like you right now.” I turn and walk back.

I refuse to look back. I get to the staircase, stop and turn. Lacie is right behind me. What?! I slowly walk up the stairs and for some reason she is right behind me. We make it to the apartment and inside we go. I am sweaty and frustrated. I look at Steph with pain and personal anguish. “I am never doing that again”, I say. I explain to her what had happened and the lack of respect of recieved. She explains how Lacie, weighing in at a whopping 4 lbs., was most likely frightened by the 6 ft. tall sasquatch with the loud voice and his hands waving in the air. “I would have run, too!” she says.

Looking back I had a pretty good time with the ol’ chap. Despite the fact that she doesn’t listen to me, she was an enjoyable guest at the house. Next time, Steph will take her out for a second.

~ by chadwickmartin on September 17, 2007.