The Smell of a Dog

Yesterday, while standing in line at the bank, a young fellow came in and filed in behind me. I thought the smell of the cigarette smoke on him would suffocate me. I'm always appalled at the thought that for 19 years (before I quit in 1992),  I smelled just like this young man. Why did I bother with deodorant and especially with perfume? Neither one can wipe out the smell of cigarettes on your clothes, in your hair, on your skin.

Which got me to wondering -- do I smell like dog now? I take my dog everywhere with me. In fact, she was waiting in the car at the bank, wondering why we were going inside the bank rather than through the drive-up where she always gets Milkbone treats. The ladies at the bank are so religious with handing out the treats, that my dog now thinks any drive-up window will bear fruit. When we go to fast food drive-up windows, she stands on the console, tailing wagging furiously, with her sweetest "look how cute I am" face on. Same thing when we drive up to pay our electric bill at City Hall. The ladies at the bank have spoiled her, and they even sent a "bonie" with me yesterday, even though I had left her in the car. Our favorite teller, Sharon, said, "Is Lulu in the car?" When I said yes she was, out came the Milkbone box.

Two years ago, when my dear old kitty died (which I posted tearfully about on this blog, by the way), one of the immediate things that was missing from my life was something soft and furry in my lap. The dog is too big to be a lapdog, and she freaks out if you try to pick her up. She would never dream of jumping into your chair while you're in it, doesn't like sharing the backseat. In short, she can be a little standoffish. So I decided to teach her how to hug. (Did I mention that this is the smartest dog on earth?) I got in the floor, sat cross-legged, and beseeched her to come to me. "I need a hug," I said, and the only way she would allow me to put my arms around her neck was if the whole ordeal paid off with a game of "Duck."

"Duck" involves throwing one of her fuzzy toys so she can race after it, and dive at it like she's going in for the kill. She then runs by squeaking the toy with her jaws, and dodges past, inviting me to try to take it from her. Sometimes there is an intense bout of tug-o-war that follows. This game is great fun to her, and is called "Duck" because her very first squeaky toy was a stuffed mallard that honked.

So I taught her to hug with bribery. A game of duck. A lick in the face that makes me pull an imitation of the Lucy character in Peanuts -- "Aughhhh! Kissed by a dog!" My laughter makes the game of Duck so much more engaging. I believe she thinks when I laugh that it must mean I need to play "Duck."

Anyway... she learned to hug. Now, she comes to me when she needs a hug. And I must hug her tightly and linger, and sometimes when I'm ready to finish, she is not. She nudges into me, head lowered, until I take her around the neck again and squeeze. Hugs. Sometimes several, and dog kisses. I bet I smell like a dog all the time. I know I wear my dog. She's all over my clothes. Her fur falls off of me at night when I bend over to brush my teeth. That's the only explanation I can think of for why her black hair is all over the bathroom sink.

I smell like dog. I know I do.

A Dog Drama

Well, if it isn’t the cat, it’s a dog drama.

 We were sitting outside. My SO had started a fire for steaks. It was nearing dusk. We were in our rockers, enjoying a glass of wine. The cat was between us. The dog was over around the lawn mower shed, worrying a lizard, or so we thought. Suddenly, she sort of barked and my SO called her over to us, scolding her about being over there. But you just can’t stop her. She is obsessed with catching things. She tucked her tail at being scolded, but tried to ease back in the direction of the shed. He got up and put her inside the sliding door. I said we should put the cat up too, or next thing we knew, he would be wandering off in the dark. Both animals safely inside, we took our rockers again, sipped our wine, and enjoyed the end of the day. 

At one point, I looked behind us. There was the cat, staring at me through the sliding door. The dog was a few feet behind him. I went inside after more wine. The cat tried to scurry through the door. Sharply, I told him no. The dog also tried it. I said no sharply to her as well. She continued towards the door. The cat arched at her, and she gave him a crisp bark. Uncharacteristic of her to do that. Usually she gives the cat a wide berth when he is bowed up like that. I noticed she was still in pout-mode, tail tucked under and head low. I called her after me into the kitchen, petted her, told her she could not go outside. Still she followed me to the sliding door. I realize now that she was acting kind of zombie-like.

My SO passed us on his way for the marinated steaks. He said, “Let her out. But keep a close eye on her.” I did. The cat had disappeared from in front of the door, no doubt incensed at having the dog bark at him. He’s used to bullying her unchallenged.

Outside, I sat down in my rocker. The dog was in front of me. She still seemed to be pouting over having been put inside. I took her head in my hand, tried to raise her face, and she suddenly growled, yelped, and lunged towards me as if I had hurt her. I sprang up from the chair, calling out for my SO. I took her inside, told him something was wrong. We both noticed that the side of her muzzle was very swollen. This was where I had grabbed her. She wanted nothing to do with me by this time. My SO said, “I bet a copperhead got her.”

I went quickly into a panic, trying to think what vet we could call on a Sunday evening, or where a “for-real” animal clinic was within 30 miles of us. Meanwhile, he was trying to calm me down and look at the dog. She was having none of it, still acting strange. I got on the computer, looked up copperhead bites, and at the same time, called my friend who had at one time worked at a vet’s office. She told me her little beagle had been bitten just a couple of weeks before. Swollen nose, nothing to rush to the doctor over, that all a vet would do was give a little anti-venom and send her home. My SO was also telling me that his long-ago dog had been bitten a couple of times and just got sick for a day or so. I printed out the TO-DO IN CASE OF SNAKEBITE instructions off the internet. We got her to take two Benadryl and decided to watch her. She didn’t seem labored in her breathing, just had this incredible swollen face, and walked around with her tail between her legs.

Well, she is indeed much better. Yesterday, her nose was still swollen. My SO jokingly named her Big Nose Kate after the notorious woman of the Old West. This morning the swelling is down even more. I swear these animals wear me out with riding this emotional roller-coaster. 

SO left for New Mexico yesterday. I will follow him on Friday. I’m dreading the drive but am curious to see how the cabin fared through the rough winter. In January we heard it got down to minus 22 degrees there. We are hoping we winterized sufficiently.

Spent all afternoon yesterday getting LILY listed on Nook. Their listing form is much more detailed than Kindle’s. Should know today if it has been published. Still coming to grips with all this electronic stuff. Sigh!

Onward ....