Category Archives: Pets and stuff

Conversations with the Dog – (A new continuing series, much to your chagrin)

The part of the dog will be played by my vivid imagination.

Everyone talks to their dog, right? I mean, we live with the furry little (or in this case big) guys every day and share most of our lives with them, so it’s only natural, right? Feel free to jump in any time now with reassuring murmurs.

Well, okay then. I do talk to my dog. And, I believe that he answers, in a canine sort of way.

Case in point: I had prepared for myself a box of brussel sprouts to go along with my ham and cheese sandwich for lunch, as you do. Buster, our family dog had assumed his normal spot next to my chair, hoping, no doubt, for a dropped morsel. And, so, with a mournful glance from his sad, brown, doggy eyes, it began.

microwave_brussels_sprouts

Me: I would give you some, but you won’t like this buddy.

Buster: Mom, it smells so good. Pleeeaaase!!!!

Me: Awww buddy you just like the smell of the butter.

Buster: Mom! Mom! Trust me on this!  (Pacing around the kitchen) I love brussel sprouts! 

Me: You don’t either!  

Buster:  Uh huh! I found one in the neighbor’s trash bag the other day and it was awesome!

Me:  Are you sure it was a brussel sprout? And what did I tell you about eating stuff out of people’s garbage cans?

Buster: Yeah, yeah, I’m sure! I need vegetables Mom! Hook me up Mooooommmmm!

*More mournful looks

Me: Okay, (cautiously) Here ya go!

*Puts single brussel sprout on paper plate.

Buster: (playing around with brussel sprout, then slurping it down) Yummmmm!

Me: Wow, really? You liked it?

Buster: Yes yes! Can I have another one?

Me: Okay then!

He ate about 5, before I cut him off. I was a little worried about the effect this might have on his…err…digestive system, (if you know what I mean.)

I immediately had to publish this information on Facebook, because, you know, my dog likes brussel sprouts!

Buster the talking, brussel-sprout-eating dog
Buster the talking, Brussels-Sprout-eating dog

Next week Buster and I will discuss the upcoming Presidential Election.

Nah, not really. Buster told me he’s already sick of hearing all the politicians grandstanding. I hear ya, Buster. I hear ya. Good dog.

Doggone. No, really.

dog clipart

I typically find writing to be cathartic. Not to mention the fact that it allows me to use the word ‘cathartic’ which I just love. Lord knows I can use all the catharsis I can get, and probably a swift kick in the pants as well, truth be told. Especially this week, since we got a dog.

I’m really quite happy that we got a dog because I am a dog lover to the nth degree. But, I have to say that they are a lot of work. I might have actually forgotten just how much work they are, really. My previous dog passed away in 2012, and I didn’t have the heart to get another one right away. Time passed, and our dog-less ways became more ingrained. But, rescue organizations being what they are, and my sense of obligation being what it is…well…here we are.

Did I happen to mention that little kids and dogs that are quite similar to little kids are meant for younger people?  Yeah, well, that.

The rescue organization told me that the dog, a mutt, was young…approximately 2 years old, and would love to go on long, playful walks with a teenager. What a coincidence! I just happen to have a teenager! I imagined the two frolicking together, playing ball, and so forth. So, on the second day of dog ownership, my son Henry and his canine companion went on a walk around the neighborhood.

My husband first noticed that there was something awry – something blue on the front porch – a leash perhaps? Or a collar? He decided to investigate. He soon discovered that the item in question was both: a collar attached to a leash. Being the Sherlock Holmes that he is, he also took note that there was nary a teenage boy nor a dog in sight. Hmmm. Where could they be, the boy and the dog?

Let the shenanigans begin!

Hubby Joe decided to drive around the neighborhood in search of our 6’2″ son and his furry companion. He soon found them on another street, both soaking wet. The story that followed was rich: Buster (the dog, not the boy) had slipped his collar and proceeded to terrorize the neighborhood. Well, terrorize might be too strong a word.  Yeah, we’ll go with terrorize. Much like cathartic, it’s a good word. Buster was having fun running around, keeping several hundred feet ahead as Henry chased after him. Eventually, his escapades landed him in a neighbor’s swimming pool. I kid you not.

dog in pool clipart

Since he couldn’t swim, presumably, he stood on his hind paws, and just kind of chilled in the pool, his front paws providing much needed support. He didn’t seem at all stressed out, unlike the crazy human trying to “rescue” him. The neighbor, having seen the whole incident, was kind enough to offer to get a leash or a rope of some sort so that my son could capture the silly dog.  But, as Henry tells it, he was taking forever, so Henry had no other option but to jump into the pool and corner the dog. Good times. Soaking wet times.

Since that incident, Buster has gotten loose one other time – this time on my watch.  I was walking him, and when he stopped to…well, you know, and I bent down to pick up the…err…droppings. Buster was not happy that I required his patience as I acquired the…stuff.   He also saw a squirrel.

angry_old_woman_chasing_a_doggie_by_diana_hnd-d5nszsv

So, he resisted against his collar, which eventually gave way…and, well, I think you know the rest of the story.  Luckily, this little escapade didn’t end in a neighbor’s swimming pool.  It did, however, end with me, running down the street in flip flops, wild eyed, swinging a bag of poo in my left hand, and his leash in my right, screaming for the dog to return right this instant, neighbors staring in rapt attention as one does in these situations.

I finally spotted him near our house, and, in a fit of what can only be described as sheer inspiration, I opened the porch door, and in he ran!  I followed suit and collapsed, in a heap, on the lawn chair.  Of course, Buster expected a treat for having gone on his ‘walk.’

It was, in fact, a cathartic experience in more ways than one.  And I am totally counting this toward my exercise regimen for the week.