Adventures in Dogland

You see, I'm not so much a dog person.

And before you jump to the conclusion that I fall onto the cat side of things, well, you're actually totally right. But despite my ongoing stories about Baxter the Cat, I'm not some crazy cat lady. Let's be clear. I just happen to thoroughly enjoy the fact that Bax may or may not get off his duff to greet me at the door. I love that I can leave two days worth of food and water out for him while I head out of town for the weekend. And I really dig the fact that he has a little box tucked away in which he can pee and poo whenever he darn pleases.

So dog-sitting is always a bit of a challenge for me. Mostly, because I really do not get dogs. It's actually quite embarrassing. I mean, unless you've been living in a cave, we've all had a ridiculous amount of exposure to our canine friends. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to take care of my friend's pet chinchilla for God's sake. So why am I so stupid when it comes to this?? And before you assume that I am being hard on myself, consider the evidence of the past years:

Situation #1:

Watching dogs come in, filthy with muddy paws. Friend (thank you, Lord) there to assist:

Me: So they're going to clean themselves up, right?

Her: What do you mean?

Me: Like lick themselves off a bit?

Her: Umm, no, that would be a cat that does that.

Me: Sooooo...you're saying that I have to clean them off myself??

Her: Well, yeah. (Points to towel which owners had quite logically left next to the door).

Me: Oh. (Thoughts of Bax licking his paws proceed to dance through my head.)

Situation #2:

Dog approaches me with rubber bone thing. Wants to play, I assume? Trying to take it from him, he proceeds to make a scary, growling noise. I quickly determine that he wants to play tug of war. (So clever of me!) However, after about five seconds of this, the scary, guttural noise deepens. I try not to be a complete wimp and continue to play "rough" with him. (This would be the wussy pants version of anyone else's play with any sort of canine.) I very soon ascertain that hyped up, playful dog = scaring the bejesus out of me. I assume he is about to eat my hand off and give up. Then, I find myself actually trying to verbalize my phobia to this two-year-old pup.

"You see, I used to be a social worker and there were all sorts of scary dogs that would come to the door and make those kinds of noises. And even worse. I mean, they were often there to protect...stuff, ya know what I'm saying'? I'm sorry, this is just sort of PTSD-like for me. I'm just gonna have to stop now."

Non-crazy cat lady turns just plain crazy?

Situation #3

Am I really picking up poop at 6:50 in the morning before an ounce of caffeine has entered my system? And did Dog #1 actually just pee on Dog #2? I can't wrap my head around any of this and want desperately to return to bed. Instead, I go to work in a fog of oblivion.

Situation #4

I have clearly been working with young children for too long. As I try to put a collar and leash on an incredibly excited barely adult Lab, I find myself once again trying to explain how his misbehavior is not going to allow us to reach our mutual goal. Naturally, things get ramped up when I have a large creature jumping about and slobbering on me.

"WE CAN'T GO FOR A WALK IF THIS IS THE WAY YOU ARE GOING TO ACT!"

Again, the sun is barely up. I wonder if God hates me.

Situation #5:

Does anyone ever feel that their shoulder is honest to God about to be dislocated while "walking" the dog? I hate running and I'm not coordinated enough to bike while taking the dog out so my only option is to power walk, short of a jog. Undoubtedly, I've become the neighborhood morning entertainment. If it's not me getting dragged by their living room window that makes them chuckle, I'm sure that my expression of utter disgust each time my newspaper sleeve encased hand dips down to retrieve poop will give them a good laugh over their morning cup of joe. Your welcome.

Situation #6

Last night as I was in the process of getting my arm ripped off, my energizer bunny friend and I suddenly heard a child crying across the street. It sounded as though someone was simply over-tired and protesting bed time. Having taken care of a ton of cranky kids in my life, it barely even registered in my brain. Yet my canine friend stopped in his tracks, cocking his head in the child's direction. Those big brown eyes showed such care and concern for someone he didn't even know but so dearly wanted to protect that my heart just melted right there on the sidewalk. I realized once again that I truly don't understand dogs one bit. And sometimes, I guess, that's a-okay.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream About Fried Butter

I was all set to write some sort of sarcastic bit about the fried butter "treat" (yes, you heard me) that was apparently all the rage at the Wisconsin State Fair this year. I was going to point out how the organizers of the state fair apparently don't think Wisconsin's got enough obesity related health problems to contend with. I was then going to assure you that I'm no rigid health nut and can most definitely appreciate deep fried goodness (as in the delectable fried cheese curd) once in a while but that it doesn't seem especially wise to encourage such highly and deeply (as in deeply fried) unhealthy foods. For me, it's on par with those twenty ounce porterhouse steaks. Just, blech.

I was about to write all sorts of things about mass consumption in some of its ugliest forms when I chose to check in with the news first. I opened NPR's home page and this is what I saw. Now granted, I was already sort of on a rampage about our culture's constant demand for excess everything but this image about put me over the edge.

And yes, I get it. Fried butter. Ha ha, those crazy fair go-ers. Rachael, lighten up, it's all in ridiculous fun. But sometimes, I just can't find the humor in the absurdity of it all. While some people actually scout out ways to treat their bodies to the most ridiculous forms of excess, there are those on the other side of the globe, searching for the bare minimum to simply keep their bodies functioning.

So yes, famine in Somalia? Rather important. Fried fat? Not so much.