Sunday, October 3, 2010

Going to the Dogs

I babysat for one of my older daughter's two dogs today. Mishy's about six months old, so it was like having a toddler. First she sat by the back door whining when everybody left. Whine whine whine whine whine. I couldn't console her. Finally, I let her out in the back yard so she could play with the dogs next door. But she ran straight to the side door of the garage because that's where she saw everybody go when they left. Then her dog pals came out of their house. And only then did she stop acting like a baby. After having some fun with her new buddies, she wanted a drink. Then she had to pee. Three times. Later she wanted me to throw and catch the ball with her when she was tired of chewing on her bone. Finally, she lay down and took a nap. In three different places. One on her doggie bed. One on the chair that's covered with a doggie blanket. The final one on the rug by the sliding door to the deck.
           At one point I made the mistake of asking if she wanted a treat because I thought I knew where they were. She knows the word "treat" and her tail was wagging, her head was cocked, and she was waiting for me to produce the goods. But I couldn't find them anywhere and I knew I had seen them the day before. Since my daughter just moved in, they must have been put someplace where the dogs would never find them. Me neither. So I got her a few pieces of kibble from the dog food bag and she was just thrilled. Especially since she didn't even have to do a trick to get her treat. I wasn't sure what tricks she knew besides sit and down and I didn't think it was fair to ask her to do something she wasn't familiar with. "Okay, you want a treat? Let's see you wash the dishes."
          My daughter and her boyfriend and his brother were back at the old apartment packing up what was left after their move to the house where I was dog sitting. They moved to a place with a backyard in the farthest northwest neighborhood in Chicago. They're so far north, they're less than a half hour from me. I didn't think it was possible to be in the city and yet so close to me in suburbia. Turns out I can take the road a couple of blocks from where they live all the way back to my town in about fifteen minutes. Mapquest directions had me take a very circuitous route the first time that required five different busy roads and lots of turns. Over 25 minutes. Maybe Mapquest didn't know I lived so close. Going home I made one left turn and I didn't have to make another until I got to my town.  Saved ten minutes.

Rocky and Mishy when she was around 12 weeks.
          I was watching Mishy so she could get some rest because she was just spayed. The other dog, Rocky, is like having an obnoxious teen age brother. If he isn't bugging her to play, he keeps trying to lick her stitches. EWWWW. So my daughter, et al., took him back to the old place to give her a break. They're American bulldogs, a breed that has the energy level of otters on crack. But they're very smart and they learn fast. And when things are quiet, they get quiet, too. While she napped, I managed to watch most of the Green Bay/Detroit game -- except when the score was 28-26 Green Bay and Detroit looked like they might score with less than a minute left. She woke up and we had to go outside for a pee break. Hers, not mine. And I never found out if Detroit was able to get off a field goal.
          The good news is that I didn't have to change any poopy diapers.
    

1 comment:

Donna said...

My grandson had a dog of that breed. She was very loving and sweet, but they scare me. They have such a bad reputation.