Was Zum Teufel?!
Tuesday, Dec 04 – This week of pissing dogs, cussing nuns, and spooky news carriers kicks off today with the discovery of a website for lost gloves. For those of you who know me well, you may recall that from September through about May, I wear gloves because my hands are always freezing. And during this nine-month span, I lose at least one or two pairs of gloves. Anyway, when I told Oslo and Mies about this cool website, they were like, Mom, not are we only an extraordinarily beautiful, versatile breed, but we’re also great tracking dogs. You can train us to find your gloves! And we would only charge $50/hr, plus travel time. Or, you could pay us in peanut butter and by de-clawing Stieglitz.
Stieglitz, by the way, is our 11-year old tabby cat. I’m surprised Mies hasn’t lost an eye to one of his swiping claws by now.
Wednesday, Dec 05 – As yesterday wound down and today wound up, I was reminded of an event that happened two weeks ago with Mies that should have been reported via WZT but wasn’t. It had to do with Mies and the newspaper carrier. One cold, Sunday morning, Mies needed to relieve himself at about 4.30am. I let him out the front door and as I stood on the front steps, I saw a dark figure walking up the street. I was wondering who it could be when all of a sudden I heard a loud THWACK! I jumped and Mies nearly flew out of his beautiful gray skin, running as hard as he could toward the back yard, nearly choking himself when he snapped hard at the end of the leash.
Now he doesn’t want us to get the Sunday paper anymore. "Can’t you just get the Sunday news through your RSS feeder, Mom?" As someone who’s always by my side, he sees how much time I spend on the computer.
Thursday, Dec 06 – I don’t remember how today began, but I remember it ending with Mies showing off his new found dexterity at the ball fields. Just like that, with a flick of his nose, he is now able to open gates that I carefully close on our way in. The way he walks in and out of those closed gates by himself, you’d think he owned the place or something.
And Oslo told me about an article he read in the New York Times about the popularity of the canine version of Facebook, aka Dogster. Now, just like Michaela confiscating my laptop to check her MySpace page, Oslo wants to check his Dogster page. You never know when some hot bitch is going to add him as a friend.
Friday, Dec 07 – Nothing happened today, unless you count Mies pissing on my leg on our morning walk and locking himself in Michaela’s room that evening. I came home to a greeting from only one Weim which totally freaked me out. But then I realized what had happened and opened Michaela’s door. He was standing there, sweating like a marathon runner in a sauna, splinters of wood at his feet. He’d clawed the door frame trying to get out, the poor little fella.
Oh, and one other thing happened today. Apparently, my friend Janet and her boyfriend Bill are way more dog freakish than Will and I are. She was telling me over dinner how her dogs leave her voicemails while she’s at work. Apparently, Reuben speaks in a deep, baritone drawl while Brutus has an annoying, high-pitched voice, kind of like Elmo on Sesame Street.
Saturday, Dec 08 – Nothing happened today.
Sunday, Dec 09 – Speaking of Sesame Street and animals thinking they’re human, Oslo whined like a two-year old all the way to Northgate, then Capitol Hill, then back home again today. Michaela and I – about ready to go stark raving mad – were just about ready to manually remove his larynx. But when I got home, I was glad we didn’t. Because then how else would he be able to operate a cool, voice-activated product like this?
Monday, Dec 10 – Ever a slave to his testicles, this morning found Oslo MIA about three minutes after I let him out to pee. One minute he’s standing like a tripod, pissing on Will’s beloved rose bushes. The next minute he’s taken off around the back of the house, gone. I call him sweetly, trying to lure him back. Then I call him sweetly some more, but with cuss words interspersed under my breath. About ten minutes later, when I’m really starting to get scared, here he comes, barreling around the south side of the house, slowing to a lanky, cool-as-a-cucumber swagger when he saw me standing there. I was mad, but of course you’re never, ever supposed to reward a returning dog with anger. So I had to quit cussing and fake the love.
Speaking of cussing, today found nuns cursing in church in a scandalous attempt to clarify words they found unnacceptable for Catholic school children. Mies read about this in the Seattle PI and was instantly intrigued. I know that if he had a human voice and could leave voicemails like Reuben and Brutus, "Was zum teufel??!" and "Scheisse!" would probably be some of the first words out of his mouth! Then I’m sure he’d start bugging me to teach him swear words in French. Zut alors!