The Dog’s in Charge

So, I am now abroad from Europe, where I have been living for nearly two months. I fell short of my original goal to stay for a long time because my dog needs me. Yep, the effing dog that was making me crazy before I left is now running my life. And seriously, this guy?

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Lots of power in those nine pounds, I’ll tell you that.

I’m glad I’m home though because the nice people who were watching my dog turned out to be dog killers. Oh, okay, so he’s not exactly dead, but I think he was on his way. He lost weight, was completely matted, had bug-out eyes and his tongue is now hanging out of his mouth because he has no teeth to hold it in: he gnawed them all down to nothing trying to get out of the crate they kept him in. He looked like the crazy Taco Bell dog!

This is a baby dog, one that cannot be left alone in a crate downstairs all night. He needs to be with his people. With them, sitting on their laps or in the crook of their legs…he’s a maltese, you must respect the royalty.

I’ve been home nearly a week and he’s just now getting back to normal, though the doctor thinks he might be diabetic. How the hell does that happen to a dog? Too much ice cream?? Alcohol? I mean, really, c’mon…I have spent thousands of dollars on a dog who insists on relieving himself whenever he feels like it on every floor of the house. He is not easy, this munchkin, but he’s mine, for good, bad and ugly.

Champ will be 13 in April; I now understand that I will have to devote myself to his furry white self for as long as he’s with us; he will not be ignored. Now, when he comes in from “making” as my grandmother used to say, he starts barking immediately for his treat. I imagine they didn’t give it to him in time, because now he gives me, on average, one split second before he starts to bark: the treat, the treat, don’t forget the treat, I need the treat RIGHT NOW.

So, as much as my life has changed since I first began the process of “moving” to Ireland, I am back to cutting up antibiotics to hide in dog food, cleaning up “accidents” and waking to the sound of scratching on my bedroom door.

Champ is King, I am his servant. Life is so weird sometimes.


2 thoughts on “The Dog’s in Charge

  1. Got my first dog when I was 58. Never saw what people saw in them…for all the reasons you mention, and when mine “makes” i get to carry around a warm bag of dog poop. But I get it, now. Bruno is almost 10 years old (although I’m still the same age) and I can’t remember life without this 94 pound lap dog. Hope you get back to your adventure.

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