It is mid-July and the summer heat is topping triple digits. It is days like this that I stay inside situated under the AC vent. This past weekend was no different. I found myself procrastinating while surfing the internet for a blog idea to jump out of the world wide web and smack me across my bald head. At some point, Alley, one of my two Shih tzus excitedly jumps between me and the television, her tail wagging franticly. It’s her way of telling me that she needs to go out.
After three minutes of trying to ignore her antics, I succumb and head over to the door. Oreo, the male dog, pops up from his resting place under the end table as if asking “walk?”
I am a firm believer that dogs are animals — not people. Though I’ve cared for this pair for nearly ten years, never once had I referred to them as “my babies” or dress them up in ridiculous outfits. (Okay, there was that one time I put a sweater on Oreo after he was shaved down a little too early for summer, but the poor guys was shivering.) They are dogs, and I am the pack leader. That being said, I still can’t help adding Pixar-type characteristics to the duo. For example, I’m convinced that Oreo is the happy dumb dog with a vocabulary limited to one word sentences. With him, it’s more how he says something rather than what he says. Alley on the other hand is a diva with a vocabulary to go with it. In fact, she is the epitome for which the word ‘bitch’ is derived. Unfortunately, she lacks memory. Like she will forget that it is the middle of summer in Texas and we live on the third floor.
As soon as the door is open Oreo bolts out and waits for permission to head down the stairs. But when the summer heat hits Alley in the nose, her excitement is shot and she saunters out. When the door clicks shut, Oreo trots down the stairs, happily muttering “Pee, pee, pee, pee….” And Alley just stands there looking at me as if to say, “Stairs? You want me to go down stairs?” On the second landing, noise from the pool distracts her and she HAS to see what is going on. She doesn’t often get an above view of humans, so she revels in the moment.
“Alley,” I yell at her.
“What?” she snaps back. “Oh yeah, stairs. Fine”
Begrudgingly, she endures the tedious task of walking down all those stairs. I’m sure she would love for me to carry her, but she needs the exercise. Besides, it is quite humorous to see her half-roll, half-waddle down. At the bottom Oreo has already relieved himself and his eyes are asking “walk?” When Alley finally makes it down she gives him a slight body slam; her retaliation for his making me take them out.
I give Oreo the go-ahead and he takes off. “WALK!” his stride says. Alley though, stands there, glaring. “Seriously? You want me to walk? It’s hot.” She then trudges off to the grass and urinates oh so daintily. When she’s done her looks says, “Okay, I’m done. Can we go back to the AC now?”
I coax her to follow and she eventually gives in. I am the pack leader after all. She trots a few steps then stops to see if I’m watching. I can easily see her riding in a wagon like the Queen of Sheba, but she’s prone to motion sickness. Pending on my patience I’ll put her on the leash. Alley does behave much better when on-leash, but when I go to connect it to her collar, she drops her head and the tail goes flaccid. The biggest act of pity me you’ll ever see.
The whole time Oreo is prancing ahead. Every twenty feet or so he will stop and look back to make sure we are following. I think that is the limit of his vision. As a young pup Oreo pissed-off one too many cats and is now mostly blind as a result. I think he has no near sighted vision left as he can’t see food placed in front of him. He strictly goes by sense of smell. His far sighted vision is limited and gets distorted with the back ground. But he doesn’t care, he happily prances along. “Walk, walk, walk… Shit?”
With no warning he makes a turn and heads off to the grass, his rear legs going slightly faster than his front. He walks like this for fifteen or twenty feet before circling five times then settles in to do his deed. “Ahhhhh. Shhhiittt.” After finishing his business he attempts to vault over the pile, but his left paw catches just the edge — as always. Back on the sidewalk he returns to his prancing like nothing happened.
Throughout the walk Alley lags behind. I contemplate putting her on leash, but it is a lazy day and I’m feeling patient. She takes the opportunity to thoroughly sniff every spot dogs have marked. Oreo just marks over the spot, many times while she is still catching the scent. It isn’t until we head back upstairs that life returns to Alley. She’ll bound up the steps two at a time like she is a puppy again. At each landing she stops to make sure I’m following. Her tongue is out and I swear she’s about to hyperventilate. Several times in the past her excitement resulted in a hacking fit, so now I try to keep her calm. But with the instinct that a treat is at hand, it is hard to stop her.
Inside the apartment I hang up the leashes and kick-off my shoes. Alley’s tail is swishing so hard I worry she’s going to throw a hip. At about ten years old she is an old dog indeed. Oreo though, has taken up a “MINE” position just inside the kitchen, like he does when guarding his food or a fresh bone. He knows what is coming and knows he needs to protect what is his from the glutton Alley. I give them their treat and Alley rushes off to swallow most of hers, while Oreo devours his before returning to comfy spot under the end table. It’s only been fifteen minutes and the excitement is over. The three of us settle back in wasting away our dog days of summer.