Tuesday, February 14, 2012

A Great Whatever (blog story) 5

     The next few days are bonding time for you and your new best friend. He pees, you clean. He poops, you clean. You tell him no and he bites your feet. You wish that behave software could be uploaded to your dog like he was a computer. You know where you’d stick the flash drive.
     Pets are like children who don’t grow up and move away. They are also immune to television so you can’t just turn on some Sesame Street and sneak away to get that much needed alone time. They need constant supervision when they are young. You are tired from hovering over him twenty four hours a day.
     The one time you snuck out to meet some friends Milo destroyed your apartment. You were only gone four hours. He knocked over a table, chewed a corner of the couch, and used the whole place as a latrine. You think you might be over feeding him. You decide you need help and go to the bookstore to see if you can find a manual for your dog.
     People love dogs, especially when they’re puppies. Complete strangers come up to you and ask to pet Milo. He loves getting felt up and it always makes him pee a little, but people think it’s cute. As the man in the man/dog relationship being the center of attention wears thin quickly. Milo likes to have new things to sniff. He sniffs everything.
     You tuck him under your arm at the door and walk him in. If anyone complains you decide to tell them you’re blind. You find the book that has the glossiest pictures and seems to be the easiest to understand. You don’t need him to do tricks. You need him to stop urinating everywhere.
     At the checkout you make small talk with the cashier who can’t keep her eyes off Milo. She is enraptured by his canine charm. When she puts her hand out he likes her fingers and she squeals like a little girl. You mention that you were looking for the easiest dog training book you could find. You say that you didn’t want anything too dogmatic. It was a bad joke and it failed miserably. She only has eyes for Milo.
     Once home you thumb through the pages of the book. It occurs to you that you never really had a dog as a child. When you were young your parents had a dog, but he was already grown. When he died they didn’t get another one. This is all foreign territory for you. As you drift off to take a nap with the book on your chest you realize that you’re not going to actually read it. While Milo licks your toes you hope that somehow things just work themselves out.

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