I never approved; I tried to resist; but somehow, despite all my
efforts, I ended up living in a house full of dogs. By "full," I mean
there are two of them, but that's plenty when they generate enough
unwanted byproducts (fur, pee, poop, noise) to belong to a whole canine
army.
Though I task my boyfriend
with the responsibility of keeping said byproducts under some semblance
of control, it's not enough. Not too long ago, it suddenly occurred to
me the extent to which I've had to rearrange my entire existence around these two
stupid dogs.
The moment I realized
I was living the dog life was when I walked out of the thrift store
carrying two coats I had selected specifically for their ability to
disguise the pale hairs of my two sheddy (Neologism by
Valerie! Meaning: characterized by shedding a lot of hair) pets. When
you buy your clothes to match your dogs, that's when you know you're
committed.
One coat was a yellow
and white houndstooth, which, while a very apropos pattern, I probably
would have bought even if I didn't have dogs, because it's not often you
run across such a sunny winter coat. The other one, however, is purely
for the pups. It features a small chevron pattern alternating between
dark grey and light tan, for an overall effect, from the distance, of
being a brindled grey.
The chevrons work a miracle, though, because the light bands disguise white and tan hairs, and the dark ones hide black hairs (on the occasions when I travel with a friend who has a black dog). I call it my "fur coat" because it's so good at hiding the fur that constantly covers it.
Compare
my old dress coat (a lovely black wool) with my new one up close, and
you'll see the difference a camouflage color can make.
The brindled one is just as covered with hairs as the black one (you can see one dangling off the sleeve if you look closely) but you would never know it until you take a lint roller to it.
The
coats, however, are just the tip of the iceberg. Here are a few more
examples of how the dogs have totally taken over my life.
As I once complained
shortly after the first unwanted dog entered my life, he likes to eat
the trash. As soon as he's alone in the house, he shuns his dog food in
favor of finding some juicy tidbit in the garbage can. Previously, we
would put the trash up on a counter or chair so he couldn't reach them
when we were not home (nothing like displaying your trash up on a
pedestal for all to see), but now I've invented a better solution.
The trash can now goes inside a microwave cart, which is just tall enough to house it, but not tall enough to allow it room to be tipped over. This doesn't protect the shorter recycling bin, however, so the search continues.
Exhibit B: the rug where Bubalou loves to poop, decorated with the ever-present bottle of vinegar spray that we use to clean up dog messes. I put the spray bottle on top of the rug to remind me that it's still wet so I don't step on it. This occurs pretty much every other day, so the vinegar bottle is basically part of the decor. Word to the wise: if you ever come to visit my house, don't lie down on this rug, no matter how tired you might be.
Speaking
of spray bottles, one bottle is never enough in a house full of dogs. A
similar bottle of water is always close by, ready to be deployed on any
dog who has emitted one too many earsplitting yaps. My boyfriend is
singularly unhelpful on this front—despite being the dog janitor, he
does absolutely nothing to curb their annoying noises. His idea of
discipline is to chuckle and tell them "Look, you made mommy mad" when I
finally bring the spray bottle into action. Guess who's the "mean mom"
in our family.
With
a great number of dog supplies comes a great need for storage. Our dogs
have earned a whole cabinet all to themselves, wherein we keep the
leashes, the collars, the brushes, the medicines, the two kinds of food,
the rags and the dog towels and all the spray bottles that are
necessary for keeping two dogs happy, healthy, and well fed, while
simultaneously keeping the house that they live in something resembling clean. Below, you see my large former pie safe, now dedicated
to dog storage.
Oh, and that huge pink box next to it? That's the latest
batch of diaper liners for Bubalou, which we must somehow stuff in the
cabinet along with all the other detritus.
One
of the nicest features of my house is the bay window. When I first got
the house, I anticipated filling it up with a treasure trove of
knick-knacks and a veritable jungle of houseplants. The only problem
was, the dogs love it as much as I do. Every chance they get, they are
leaping into the window, where they wreak all kinds of havoc, knocking
over all the knick-knacks in their eagerness to demonstrate their
earsplitting-yapping ability to every casual passer-by. In January, when my
jungle of houseplants had all but died from the cold, I covered the
window with an insulating plastic sheet, and was quite proud of my work,
until the dogs decided to tear it to ribbons in their futile efforts to
scratch their way into the hearts of the aforementioned passers-by.
 |
| All that remains of my once beautiful window covering. |
I
had to wage a border war. On a trip to Community Forklift, I chanced to
find a collection of metal grates (for 5 dollars!) that happened to be
the perfect size to cover the opening of the bay window. I have no idea
what the grates were for originally, but now they are a fence. Yes, I
have what amounts to bars on my window—not to deter burglars, just to
deter my own stupid dogs.
One
of the dog battles that I finally won – at great cost to myself – was
the battle of the couch cushions. For some reason, the dogs could never
content themselves with sitting on the seat of the couch. Oh, no, they
had to scramble up to the back and sit on the back cushions until they
were squished and deformed into hideous blobs with dog-sized
indentations. For a while there, my entire vocabulary seemed to consist
of "Jack! Get off the back of the couch!" until finally one day, I
simply removed the back cushions entirely.
 |
| I left one cushion turned sideways for old-times' sake. The dogs can sit on that one all they want, cause it's certainly not comfortable that way for anyone else! |
Now,
the only things on the couch are slipcovers (to keep the dog fur and
drool stains at bay), a blanket (to cover the one spot where the
slipcovers don't reach) a couple of pillows (with pictures of the dogs
on them naturally), whatever squeaky toy they saw fit to bring up there
with them today, and, of course, the dogs themselves.
To get the couch actually in a state fit for human use is such an ordeal that, well, it's just a dog couch now.
To get the couch actually in a state fit for human use is such an ordeal that, well, it's just a dog couch now.
As if the
dog couch wasn't enough, each dog gets his own personal (dogal?) bed.
The dog beds take up all of the floor space next to our human bed...for absolutely no reason, because when we go to sleep, this is how it looks.
The dog beds take up all of the floor space next to our human bed...for absolutely no reason, because when we go to sleep, this is how it looks.
Notice that's a dog butt where my body should be, and another one where my head should be. If that doesn't prove I've let dogs take over my life, I don't know what does!
