walkin’ the dog

July 20, 2006

It’s another exciting night at casa de dos quesos, and a chance for the kids to re-learn a valuable lesson:

Do not hid socks under the couch cushions.

The couch is not the same as the laundry hamper, dear children. If you leave your socks there, they will not get washed. And soon you will have no clean socks and don’t come crying to me (or for that matter, your father, who is the one on laundry duty in this house, and even less sympathetic than I am).

Socks under the couch cushions will not get washed. They will, however, get eaten. And once the sock boldly goes where socks, dish rags and hundreds of pounds of dog food have gone before, you will not want to wear it, no matter how or when it comes out of the dog.

Kaiju the golden retriever is only slightly smarter than that python I just read about. In case you missed the story, a 12 foot python just needed surgery to remove an entire queen-size electric blanket, including control box and cord.

The snake probably didn’t think much further than “Warmmmmmmmm.”

The owner probably thought, “??????????????????????” or perhaps, “I swear this bed used to be made, and my, doesn’t the python look lumpy today.”

Kaiju probably thinks, “Sock!” Finding one of those in sandal season is probably the dog equivalent of fresh strawberries in December.

I managed to get the first sock away from him before he got it down. But socks come in pairs. Checking the couch and the floor around it, we were still a sock short.

We needed to check the inside of the dog.

So we found the owner of the socks: #1 son, and sent him to get the hydrogen peroxide and the leash. This is syrup of ipecac for dogs. It is not a pleasant experience for anyone involved, but it is easier to have a sick dog under controlled circumstances than a surprise on the rug later.

My husband takes the leash, I take a cup of water, and my son follows with a medicine cup full of h-p. And bringing up the rear is Mohawk the cat. Mohawk never learned that cats don’t take walks like dogs. He insists on coming along whenever we take the dog, and showing off to get our attention. Eventually, he falls behind and meows and I feel bad and try to carry him home until he scratches me and runs away.

It is like “The Incredible Journey” with a lot less charm.

But today, it is veterinary Schadenfreude as Mohawk comes along to watch as we puke the dog.

Me: “We’re far enough. Grab his head, and toss it in.”
# 1 son: “Like this?” (tosses h-p mostly towards the mouth, missing the throat)
Dog: (doing credible impression of Old Yeller, foaming at the mouth and shaking his head).
Cat: (rolling kittenishly on the road. “Look at me! Look at me!”
Husband: “You want some water, Kai? How about some grass? That’ll settle your stomach.”
Dog: (runs into ditch and eats a pound of fresh grass)

We walk further.

#1 son: “I don’t think it worked.”
Me: “Give it time.”
Husband: “Pour another one.
Me: (tripping) “Dammit cat. Go home.”
Cat: “Scratch me. Pet me. Love me.”
Dog: “Burp.”

Me: “Like this.” (Getting dog in a head lock, grabbing medicine cup and tossing contents down his throat).
Dog: (looking depressed)
Cat: (pretending to be disinterested, but secretly laughing)
Husband: “You want some water boy?”
Dog: “I am not taking anything from you people, ever again.”

We walk further.
The dog erupts.

Me: “Is that a sock.”
#1 Son: “I think so.”
Husband: “Nope. Just grass.”
Me: “Get a stick and check.”
#1 son: “Me?”
Me: “Your sock.”

Dog: (erupting again) “I hate you all.”
Cat: (looking very smug)

A car is coming and I have to get the cat out of the middle of the road, where he is doing his impression of the Lion King.

The neighbors drive by slowly and watch us admiring a puddle of dog puke. This time, it is a Kleenex.

Dog: “See? No socks. not guilty. Every time anything goes missing around here, I get the blame. What is wrong with you people?”

Cat: “Don’t look at me.”

The dog has mostly forgiven us, has had a frosty paws and is sleeping it off. Dogs have very short memories, which explains why he keeps eating stuff that he can’t pass.

And I still have to figure out where he cats are hiding the socks.