Saturday, August 11, 2007

Stop campaigning on my shoe.

My neighbors across the street have three wiemeraners - two standard grey, one blue. For several months now, I've been taking jobs watching the dogs, feeding them when my neighbors, an elderly couple, go out to golf. They've also gone on vacation before, and had us (my sister and I) stay overnight at their house with the dogs. These dogs are like their children, so caring for them is very extensive.

Max, the ancient old one that can hardly walk anymore, has his own double bed in his own bedroom on which he sleeps which two blankets over him, the window open just the right amount, the lights dimmed and the door open. He takes around five pills each morning, needs oil and water mixed with any dry dog food he's fed, and requires a liberal amount of orange-flavored Metamusal sprinkled in his dish. Because his arthritis is so bad, one has to keep a sharp watch on him; anytime his legs give out on the tile floor, one has to drag a rug over to let him ground his feet and stand up, instead of scrabbling helplessly on the slippery tile. He has to be lifted into bed, lifted halfway up the stairs sometimes, and, as he's nearly deaf, talked very loudly to.

Sam's old too, though still spry enough to stalk you throughout the house, nudging constantly at your hands for attention, panting in your face with reeking bad breath, and trying to sponge half your face off if you come too close to his tongue. When his arthritis acts up, he barks. And barks. And barks. When he doesn't get attention - after tripping you by planting himself square in your path, pawing madly at you, and whining - he barks some more. He sleeps upstairs in the master bedroom, in the master bed with whomever human happens to be sleeping there. The few times I've slept there, I've woken up with him sprawled almost completely on top of me, snoring his doggy breath into my face, and passing gas what seemed like every ten seconds.

Maxi is the blue, still a puppy, but being a weimeraner, huge. He's not one for too much attention of the petting kind, but even mention the word "ball", "outside", or "play", and he's all over you, jumping and slobbering and trumpeting his bark right in your ear. He, also, takes a pill - for just about the canine equivalent of ADHD. Anything will set this guy off, be it the doorbell, playtime, even toilet flushing and rising out of your chair after you've been still for a while. He'll often bite you accidentally, letting go as soon as he realizes your arm is not his ball. It still hurts, and more often than not, leaves some pretty nasty bruises. As long as he doesn't draw blood, I'm good. He, like Sam and sometimes Max, will stalk you about the house, though Maxi's style is markedly different. Whereas the older two stalk for attention, Maxi does it for the stalking itself - If I turn a corner to wash my hands in the bathroom, for example, Sam and Max will heave themselves off their butts and rush to follow me, hoping for ever more physical affection. Maxi actually stalks. A few seconds after I turn the corner, I'll hear a pause, then click, click, click, click as he pads after me, and finally, I'll see his head peer cautiously around the corner. I've concluded that the dog is quite simply insane; As such, he's my favorite of the three.

~See now, I've just written all that out, and looking back at it, I'm faced with the question of Why. These dogs, as much a hassle as they can be (owing to the fact that I've never had a dog), are absolutely lovable, but writing this much about the things is stretching it. I'm just surmising that as college fast approaches, my innate procrastination instincts kicked into effect and let me unload a dump of drivel onto xanga while my homework for Intro to Liberal Arts awaits. Nice job, brain.

Tally Ho.

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