Was Zum Teufel?!
Note: Please bear with me as I adjust the timing of my writing. I’ve only included six days this time to allow for time to write between the last day of observation and Tuesday’s posting.
Wednesday, Sept 12 – This week begins with Will’s long anticipated visit to Seattle, his first trip home since he left in May.
I counted the morning hours until he got home working at Café Ladro. While there, I was privy to a very tense conversation between what I assumed to be two gay men. As I listened to them volley back and forth, each stating what was and wasn’t working for them, revealing their perspective reasons for wanting to end their relationship, I started to wonder about relationships. Relationships with dogs in particular. I imagined Oslo or Mies with the human capacity for speech and wondered what they would say if they had a bone to pick with me regarding our relationship. It would probably go a little something like this:
Oslo:
“Yes, well, you know, I really, really get tired of being asked to babysit Mies all the time. You have NO IDEA how hard is it to control him when he goes on one of his countersurfing sprees.”
“I feel like we never have any alone time.”
“Do I HAVE to go to another stupid beauty pageant?? Show rings are for girls.”
“Honestly, I don’t understand why you got so upset when I peed all over the neighbor’s tomatoes. GOSH!”
And Mies:
“If I’ve asked you once, I’ve asked you a MILLION TIMES. Leave the toilet seat up. How hard can that be???”
“I feel trapped.”
“You never pet me anymore.”
“When you child-proof all the cabinets and lock all the doors, I feel like you don’t trust me. You can’t build a relationship without trust!”
Luckily, though, because dogs can’t talk, relationships with them are never that complicated and the day ended with a trip to the airport to pick up Will. Unexpectedly, the Weims didn’t go ballistic when they first saw him like I thought they would. Instead, they peered out from the kennel at him with a look in their eyes that said, “Where the hell have YOU been?”
We then took these spoiled canines with us to a swank hotel downtown where – tout de suite! – Mies turned the room into an agility course and Will and I were tempted to sleep on the floor rather than face a sleepless night on a Queen-sized bed as part of a Weim sandwich.
Thursday, Sept 13 – Speaking of dogs and relationships, today commenced with an article in the PI about women and their dogs. As Will and I waited for our donuts and caffeine at Top Pot under the Monorail, I couldn’t help but spot this title while standing in line:
The Singles File: Dogs Are Men
Very intriguing. The gist of the article was that most men are dogs, women are tired of it, and rather than search fruitlessly for a good man, they fill the Boyfriend Void with a dog instead. As someone with more than a few girlfriends with dogs, I know this to be true. More than one of my girlfriends sleeps with her furry friend and has told me that if a guy she were dating couldn’t accept a 1/3 canine ménage-à-trois, then va t’en! (that’s “Get out of here!” in French).
I say this in French because today marks about the 90 or so day that I’ve been giving commands en Français to les garçons. So far they respond to “Trouve/prende ton joué!” (Find/get your toy!), “Attrappe!” (Get it!) and “Tu veux des bons-bons?” (Do you want some candy?) They also know “Putain!”, which, according to my Cusscards, is French for “was zum teufel??!” Now, if I could only get them to respond to “Ton merde! Dans la poubelle!” (Your shit! In the trash can!”) that would be great.
Anyway, back to the men-are-dogs-dogs-are-men schtick: luckily for me and Will, we rank at the same level on the dog fanatic scale: over the top. We’d both throw each other overboard before we’d risk losing the Weims.
Friday, Sept 14 – Nothing happened today, unless you count Oslo’s trip to Harborview to meet Stephanie. He has a beauty pageant in Wenatchee tomorrow.
Saturday, Sept 15 – Oslo lost to another Weimaraner. Stephanie says the judge was just stupid. I told Stephanie that maybe it’s time to resort to some Tanya Harding tactics. I console Oslo, telling him I understand; my grad school critiques were just as emotionally devastating and not to worry. He’d be sucking face with a champion bitch, makin’ beautiful little grey ghosts soon enough. I also told him that whatever he did in the ring tomorrow, to just give the simple answer “Because they’re stupid!” to the map question and not to make a fool of himself like Miss Teen South Carolina.
Sunday, Sept 16 – Oslo won today! In his months-long quest for his last. final. point. he did it! He is now a champion Weimaraner. Champion Nike n’ Eden’s Seabiscuit to be official. This called for a hamburger and French fries from Stephanie before he came home. And extra excrement duty from me the next day to deal with the mushy consequences of his eating the verboten “fatty foods”. Jawohl. Not pretty.
But anyway, with this development and after some thought, I decide the Weims make much better pets than any rat ever would.
Monday, Sept 17 – Nothing happened today unless you count Olso and Mies getting wall postings and virtual pettings on their Facebook (aka “Dogbook”) pages. That’s right, dogs have to worry about their online presence just like the rest of us. This is what happens when you have a tech-savvy dog owner with too much time on her hands.