I got in a fight with my dog.
Before you get too excited, it wasn’t like what you think it could be. I know Smidge is a little aggressive and very, uh, passionate about her boundaries, but it wasn’t a tooth and nail fight. It was a Mommy-Dogger fight.
So last night, I get home from a school board meeting. I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn’t sleep, partially because my dogger was snoring violently while I tried to listen to some soothing music and Cairo was making biscuits on my back. I went to work, then the meeting. I got out a few minutes early and cruised as the sun set, about 15 minutes worth of time I carved out to just give myself some dang time. Otherwise, the only thing I wanted was to get home and hold my dog.
So I get home. Walk the Smidge, feed the Smidge, the Smidge joins me on the couch for my own dinner before I start working on my story. Tried to snuggle with her but got the deadpan stare. Later, face slammed practically upside down into the couch cushions, she snores until I file the stories, then take her out one more time with the recyclables.
I take a short shower and the beanie-weenie herself is jammed into a familiar kidney shape on her bean bag. Cairo is passed out in the secret valley of fashion hats organized under my bed. Guess I’ll curl up with myself. It’s 1 a.m.
This morning, I wake up to my usual alarm and the munchkins begin to scurry. The alarm means breakfast - GOOD GRACIOUS IT MORNIN’ MAMA - and thus, Smidge begins charging at her big brother, both under the bed and zooming into the hallway until… she trips over the phone cable, and sends my cell phone flying into the hallway.
Cairo busts it downstairs. I try to never yell at either of them, but they have seen me pitch fits before. I gave my pup a stern what-for as she sat under the bed, pouting at me.
Look, pets aggressing each other is a weird way to wake up. I had the Glitter Girls (our family dogs) while my parents celebrated their anniversary and there was midnight tussle like my bathroom was Fight Club or something. Smidge was a gracious hostess and nestled in her kennel so they could sleep on the bed after that. But how – HOW – did my little dog shotput my cell phone practically down the stairs? A little mixed up sleep schedule makes me too cranky and Smidge got the tail end.
She didn’t follow me downstairs for outside, I had to take the leash upstairs and lead her all the way down; there was no excited dance for breakfast. I started feeling bad. I held her for a few minutes before I left, and she was still excited for her farewell treat, but I can’t help but feel that I done goofed.
I got in an argument with my dog. A dog who has likely seen a lot of the un-fun the world had to offer before we found each other. And I yelled at her!
Really, I should have been impressed with her athletic ability. She was not well exercised and certainly wasn’t socialized when I got her. She loves food and is highly food motivated. She also has mystery vision and possibly a bum eyeball, so I really shouldn’t be angry my spicy chalupa was cheering for breakfast from Mommy.
But I’ve got a plan to make it up to her. Fellas, take note! Smidge doesn’t care for flowers and she’s not allowed to have chocolates or champagne, but Walmart sells the tiniest plush squeaker toys. They’re smaller than anything I can find in pet stores, and they’re for dogs instead of cats (though Smidge will play with anything, she loves this big ice cream cone that B.J. Williams bought for her.) The tiny little toys, though, she runs around the house with, shaking them violently before ripping out each individual fuzzy hair on it and eventually pummeling the stuffing and squeakers from its carcass.
And, like any good mother, every time I go to Walmart I take a gander down that pet aisle. And I buy every single fuzzy, squeaky toy I find for a rainy day, when she’s a particularly good girl, or I am afraid she will choke on the remains of the last on and need to secretly dispose of it.
And apparently, she now gets one when it’s time for me to say sorry.
