Walking the Dog

My quest to combat diabetes has resulted in several big changes in my life, most of which surround the areas of diet and exercise. The food part has been pretty easy, but exercise isn’t my favorite thing to do.

At all.

Which is why diabetes took it upon itself to make my life miserable. It’s in my genes, therefore I made it easy to settle in and change everything.

So we got a dog.

Ok, we didn’t get the dog because of my diabetes, we actually got the dog because my dad loves dogs and I thought it would be a good idea to have a critter that would keep him company those few hours he had to hang out by himself on weekends, and to sleep with him at night.

That didn’t last long.

“He snores,” Ye Olde Fartte said the morning after he spent his first night with the dog. “He doesn’t just snore, but he also grunts, twitches, and hogs the bed.”

“Hmm, sounds like someone else I know,” I said, risking a glance at Tammie.

“Yeah, well I don’t want him sleeping with me any more.”

I worried that the dog would get into the cat food, or worse, the cat boxes if he was left to himself at night. But I needn’t have worried. He’s actually quite the little gentleman.

Except when he’s on a leash. The minute a lead is clipped to his halter, he turns into the Tasmanian devil from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. He chases things and feels compelled to RUN from one P-mail spot to the next. This crazy dog even wanders while he’s leaving emojies. That’s fun to pick up. I feel like a demented reenactment of Hansel and Gretel, only instead of stones or breadcrumbs, I’m following dog turds.

It took a couple weeks, and a new halter, but now he’s doing a bit better, not pulling quite so hard on the lead, unless all this exercise has just made me faster and better able to keep up with him. This is all fine and good until he sees another dog, then my little sweet doggie goes from ridiculous Tasmanian Devil, to a hell hound, all bark, snark, and teeth.

“I’mma gonna kill ‘im. I’mma gonna kill ‘im and eat ‘im! I’mma gonna do it NOW! NOW! NOW!”

“You may NOT eat that dog.” I find myself repeating that several times on our walks. The owners of the other dogs think I’m being funny, but I’m totally serious. He WILL eat their dog!

And then there’s “THE Dog!”

It goes around town, pulling a wagon filled with tourists. It clip-clops down the street several times a day, and sometimes when we’re out on our walk, we see it. We see it and we want it. We want it because we want to EAT IT!!!  Because we haven’t figured out it ISN’T a dog. A funny smelling, giant-assed monster of a dog. But we don’t care, WE WILL EAT IT!!

And another wrassling match ensues, with me insisting he cannot eat the horse, and people think I’m being funny. They laugh as I hoist the little beast into my arms, doing my best to keep my face away from all those damn teeth and flailing paws bedecked with sharp claws.

“DOG! MUST EAT GIANT DOG! IT IS MY PURPOSE IN LIFE! PUT ME DOWN SO I MAY DINE ON HIS FLESH!”

“No. You have to check your P-mail and I’m pretty sure I smell an emoji or two lurking about in your gut.”

“DIE! DIE! DIE! HATEFUL BEAST! I SHALL DESTROY—” I turned away so he couldn’t see the horse any more and the threats ceased.

“You were saying?” I asked.

“Do you smell that?”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I think Angel from the book store left me a message over by the hotel parking lot. Let’s go!!!” And off we go, the horse completely forgotten as we resume our trek to find the holy grail of pee spots and offload a few emojies. Thankfully, I am equipped with emoji traps, which I employ, then hang on the handy-dandy clip attached to the dispenser. We finish our trek with me sporting a bracelet of dangling poop sacks.

I’m not sure how this is going to help me combat diabetes, but it certainly is keeping my ego in check.

MONSTERS!!!

The cats are cowards.

I mean, they're brave enough when string is involved, or those damn toy mousies. In fact, with the exception of Thud, they're fine with the red dot of death.

Even when new people come in, they're curious enough to stare from their favorite vantage points. But... we have visitors. Noisy visitors.

See, my dad has to use a commode in the bathroom because he tends to fall. But when he sits down, he "flops" into whatever seat awaits him. He has broken more chairs than the whole WWF combined. Recliners, dining chairs, he's even done damage to car seats! Unfortunately, his flopping caused the commode over the toilet to push against the tank. This broke the seal and we had water. Lots of water. We got it cleaned up, and I fixed the problem, then told him to keep watch.

I try to give him privacy and only go into his room when he says he needs something. Apparently, mushrooms growing in his bathroom don't bother him, so he didn't say anything. Then the other day he fell against the toilet harder than usual and it started to leak. But he either didn't notice or thought it would stop before it got bad. It didn't and water began leaking rapidly from the toilet and no one was the wiser.

So away it leaked. A lot, like two streams from the tank, all the way across the bathroom to the bedroom door, a good eight feet distance. Knowing what I know about modular homes, I didn't want the problem to get any bigger, or the floor to get soft and rot away. Mold had already become a problem, so this just solidified our resolve to get it fixed before it became a much bigger, more expensive, problem requiring us to fish the toilet out from under the house.

Enter, contractor dudes, a.k.a., TEH MONZERZ!! They brought their big, stompy feet, their loud voices, and worst of all, THE SAW!!! Jeebus H. Crispy, that thing is horrifying to the cats.

When it started up, Meow dashed under the vanity and Freya Fish-whore took up her place under the bed. Thud, with nowhere else to go where he could be alone, attempted to take up residence under the recliner but changed his mind when Ye Olde Fartte pushed the button to lower the footrest. This caused much hilarity for about ten seconds. I had no idea where he'd gone until I went to heat up some soup for lunch. I opened the cabinet door and...

Me: What the hell?
Thud: Yeah, that's what I'd like to know. What hell has come here now? I thought you'd be the last of it.
Me: Asshole. You'd better be nice or I'll sic the red dot of tail death on you.
Thud: No, YOU be nice. I have yet to shit in your shoes, but don't think I haven't considered it before this moment.
Me: You shit in my shoes and I'll toss your furry ass outside. Remember what happened the last time you went outside?
Thud: Mommy cried.
Me: I was referring to the wild things-
Thud: NO! Don't remind me! Damn long-eared menaces. They LOOKED at me! WITH THEIR EARS!
Me: Those were slugs.
Thud: Yeah, whatever. They were horrible.
Me: Look, just move over, I need to heat up some lunch for Ye Olde Fartte.
Thud: Well, for him, I'll let you have a pot. I bet he'll appreciate the special seasoning I put in it.
Me: I'll be sure to wash it well before I put food in it.
Thud: Why do the others actually like you?

Just then the reciprocal saw started up and with a loud POP! Thud poofed out before disappearing deeper into the cabinet.