Was Zum Teufel?!
Wednesday, August 29 – Today we received Oslo’s vet bill:
One-Day Hospitalization – $50.40
Anesthesia Catheter – $32.45
Anesthesia Propofol to Isoflurane – $151.95
A lot more miscellaneous medical crap too tedious to type – $486.15
One healthy, practically sneeze-free Weimaraner – Priceless.
Now, if you think that seems expensive, it is. If you think that seems excessive, well, it’s relative. Yes, that could’ve been a ticket to Europe. Or half of our recent plumbing job. A new couch. My fall wardrobe. The rest of the parts for my fixie. A trip to DC to see my husband…. But I digress.
Certainly, affording your canine companions better living standards than most inhabitants of second and third-world countries is a luxury. But two of a man’s best friend are still a helluva lot cheaper than human children. I already have two of those and trust me, not only do dogs cost a lot less to feed and clothe, but they don’t throw temper tantrums in the grocery store or sneak out of their kennels at night to go drinking during their adolescent years!
Trust me on this one, you childless people. Give birth to Weimaraners instead of kids. I’m not joking.
Thursday, August 30 – Today, Oslo was surfing the web and came away very upset when he saw the Tour de France footage of a yellow labrador being hit by rider Marcus Burghardt in Stage 9 of the race. "Why did he hit the dog, Mom?" he asked (although secretly, he didn’t really care because he’s not too fond of yellow labs, anyway). I told him it was probably just the buzz from the drugs he was taking. Apparently, all the riders take drugs these days, which is why Will didn’t even bother to watch the Tour this year.
Later that day, Mies was upset when yet again, Oslo pulled his Cujo act after I put them in the kennel. Lest Mies even think about looking at Oslo’s bone, let alone taking it, Oslo makes sure he sounds as dominant and vicious as possible, making both Mies and me wish we were swimming in a sea of sharks rather than standing in the kennel with him. Hard to believe this is the same dog who coos and nuzzles and nibbles on my Tiffany’s necklace in the morning, full of love and adoration.
Lastly, I was upset that evening when we were on our way to the Crack…er, I mean, Regrade Park. We met a couple with a Weimaraner (not yet in Seattle because they had just moved) who stopped to ask me questions about life with Weims in an urban setting. They were thinking of getting rid of their dog because they weren’t sure how they were going to manage him in the city. He’s three and has never been walked on a leash. Instead, he’s left loose in the yard, zapped by an electric fence if he crosses the live, hot line.
Hmmm, maybe it’s the owners who need mild electrocution instead?
Don’t even get me started on people who don’t properly train their dogs and then consider getting rid of them because of it….
Friday, August 31 – That lovely bacteria, E. Coli, is reported in the water at Magnuson. Since Mies recently got over an $800 bout of giardia which required overnight hospitalization, IVs and saving savory poop samples overnight to take to the vet the next morning, there’s no way in hell I’m letting the dogs in that water.
Instead, we head on over to our favorite field full of grass and blackberry bushes where Oslo and Mies prepare to run circles, or maybe it’s more like cyclones, around a Bassett Hound and two miniature Dachsunds. Those poor dogs’ legs are so short it looks like their feet are attached directly to their bodies, like Mister Potatohead or something. But apparently, their jaws work just fine. As Oslo whizzes faster than the speed of light past the hound, the hound reaches over, bites him on the ankle and trips him, causing Oslo to yelp and do a full 360-degree sideways somersault. After being dazed and confused for a moment, he picks up his shattered, I’m-a-showdog-with-big-balls-how-dare-you ego, gets pissed, and goes for the hound’s ears for revenge. Luckily, the humans intervene and the dogs are forced to kiss, make-up, and play nicely once again.
Speaking of blackberries, Mies picks his own, eating them right off the bush. If you’ve never seen a Weimaraner eating blackberries, it’s almost as fascinating as watching a Weimaraner with his sucky toy. More on that later….
Saturday, September 1 – Upon kicking the bucket last week, the infamous hotel queen, Leona Helmsley spurned her grandchildren in favor of…her dog. According to the New York Times:
"Mrs. Helmsley, the hotel magnate who died last month at age 87, showed her enduring love for her dog, whose actual name is Trouble, by leaving the dog $12 million in her will. Mrs. Helmsley was not as generous to her chauffeur, who was awarded $100,000, or to two of her grandchildren, who received nothing, the 14-page will states, “for reasons which are known to them.”
Ummm, okay. And we thought we were a little dog crazy….
Anyway, on the DC front, it is now official. Will misses the dogs more than he misses me. (Hmmm, no surprise there. Lacking in estrogen, they’re a lot less moody.) So much, in fact, that I’ve been informed that for the three days he’s here next week, he’ll be pitching a tent for himself and the Weims at Tiger Mountain, and I’m welcome to join them for a swim on Saturday morning. Take it or leave it.
He has also started looking for dog-loving landlords:
"On Saturday I rode my bike through an over-priced Maryland community and I was not focused on the rents, the potential commute or the quality of the schools. I was worrying about the size of the yards, the height of those backyard fences, and the proximity of local parks and hidden greenways where a pair of very athletic hounds can break the leash laws and get up to their cruising speed of 20+ mph at least once a day."
In our quest for a new dog-friendly neighborhood, we have learned that Seattle ranks #3 in the humane treatment of animals, trailing only San Francisco and then Portland. Luckily, DC is #4.
Sunday, September 2 Nothing happened today.
Monday, September 3 Oslo and Mies are unceremoniously locked in the kennel while we have friends of a friend over for a holiday BBQ. I wasn’t informed until their arrival that the two children in tow were terrified of big dogs.
The Weims being Weims, of course, were not happy about being away from their peeps. Always welcome guests at all of our dinner parties (most of our friends are dog lovers), they protested by whining and barking until we went inside where they could no longer hear us. When one of the little boys kept asking me, with trepidation, "Why are they barking?" I wanted to fuck with him and say, "Because they smell a juicy little boy and want to come in and eat him." But I didn’t. Really, I’m not that mean.
Tuesday, September 4 – Nothing happened today, either, unless you count the freak show in the back of the bus when I was going downtown. There was a guy talking in a low raspy, warbly voice, alternating between spouting gibberish and asking people for quarters. He sounded like a cross between Darth Vader, the Wicked Witch of the West, and Chewbacca.
Then up front, just to balance things out, we had a crack whore with an unlit cigarette in her mouth, picking the meth scabs off her arms and mumbling the F-word under her breath.
Anyway, I was sitting there counting the minutes until my stop, thinking how much I wanted off the damn bus and how glad I was that I didn’t have the dogs with me, especially Mies. My dogs are well-socialized, but not when placed in what amounts to a rolling mental institution transporting a bunch of fucking whackjobs. Mies would’ve likely started barking in his guard dog voice at Mr. Darth Wicked Chewie in the back. And Oslo would’ve probably taken the cigarette right out of that woman’s mouth, on the off chance it turned out to be a remnant of a bully stick or some other tasty morsel.
Who needs reality TV when you live with two sprightly Weimaraners and take public transportation??