Canine Bootie Shorts April 2013

I've always made fun of those people who dress their dogs up, cook them special meals, and take them to the vet to get their teeth brushed. I'm a hypocrite. Just weeks ago I resorted to a canine version of "bootie shorts" with Depends stuck in them to keep my two dogs from peeing on my couch, my pool table leg, my rug...and anything else that might seem like an appealing urinal for these mutts. If it weren't for my daughter Charli's strong attachments to Max and D'Marcus, I'd have blessed two other lucky families with an old, grouchy, neurotic Schnauzer and a sweet, adorable, dumb-as-a-rock long-haired doxie. They are making me crazy. Max was the perfect dog for almost 9 years--never pooped or peed in the house--unless he ate a carton of chocolate coverd almonds from Trader Joe's, for instance. Then we adopted D'Marcus from the shelter. Max's testosterone kicked in and he decided to show everyone who the alpha male around our house was. He pees on purpose. D'Marcus, on the other hand, pees submissively. If he thinks you're mad or disappointed with him, he flips over and turns on the spout. So we have to reprimand him in a syrupy sweet quiet voice...."D'Marcus baby, get off the table please. Put the steak down for mommy...good boy." My son said, "I'm gonna try that. Next time you're mad at me, I'm just gonna flip over and pee."

I have become the person I've always made fun of, only worse. A dog in a tutu beats a dog wearing bootie shorts with Depends stuffed inside anyday.

New Home for Sugar?

Yesterday a potential new "mommy" for Sugar (our adopted 1 1/2-yr-old dog) came to visit. I thought we were exhibiting a rather appealing image...until my 8-yr-old daugher got home from a sleepover. Apparently, whatever she ate at the sleepver had given her abundant gas. Sitting on the wooden piano bench in our living room, the sound was difficult to ignore. I apologized for the sound and smell, and we continued our conversation about Sugar. The flatulence continued. But the loss of dignity didn't stop there. I had been painting Charli's room, so I was wearing  baggy red paint-stained sweatpants held on by a rubber band at the waist. Charli decided to pull off the rubber band which was one of her ponytail holders. As I bade farewell to Sugar's potential adoptive parent, I held my pants up with one hand and apologized once again for the farting. I can only imagine that this woman is thinking, "I have to save Sugar from this crazy family!" So be it. Amen.