weekly update but mostly not

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

I’m just gonna come out of my career closet on the Internet right now and let you guys know a little bit about one of my jobs. I house sit in Malibu. It’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds and I’ve developed a tolerance to daddy long-legs crawling on my face at night. I’ve done it for a little over a year and while the location is amazing and I can see the ocean while I cook food… keeping these dogs alive really takes it out of me, especially so shortly after Mickey died.

The older of the two dogs, Huey, is bundled on the less-loved couch downstairs. (One of the couches is my jam. The couch Huey’s on is just kind of the good couch’s bastard sister.) At some point after I got home tonight, Huey started to whinegrowl. Like a really slow, long whimper. Kinda sounded like someone was hypnotizing a cat or something. I don’t know how else to describe it. Anyway, just now I’m starting to nod off. I’m really dumb when I’m sleeping, I just assume that whatever is going on is less important than how much I’m enjoying my sleep, so I kinda just fell downstairs and pulled him up under my chin and hugged him until he stopped. Then just now I noticed that he wouldn’t put any weight on his right hind leg.

Last year around this time, he had the same issue. But, it turned out that he limped around on three legs for no reason for about two months last year. He faked a hurt leg in order to gorge himself on dog cookies and be walked around the world on the top of a pillow. Yes, I am certain he was faking. I caught him one day running around on all fours and then when he noticed I was watching, he tucked his hind leg up to his chest as if I would fall for it.

I don’t know if he’s faking right now, to be honest. There’s nothing in his paw that I can see, there’s no visible damage. He can stretch his leg, so I don’t think there’s a broken bone involved. At worst, homeboy has a strained muscle. It’s very possible because we have been going on two-mile walks. Also, who the HECK knows what that baby monster does when I’m sleeping / at my real job? He could have been climbing the neighbor’s tree, making forts, or running for senate for all I know. I let him have free reign of the house because I’m a horrible mother and don’t have time to hang out with him all day.

And hey, Internet? I’m real worked up about this on the inside already, so I would appreciate NO EMAILS on the subject of this dog’s health. Seriously, if I get anything from anyone about how your dog stepped on some poisionous leaves and it ate their leg and by the time you brought him to the vet there was only three minutes to save his life, I’ll come to your house and I’ll kill you. I may not have time and money to take this dog to the vet, but I certainly have time and money to fly to wherever you are in the country and drive a dull knife in to your throat. I actually have a special fund for that. So yeah. I shared with you, but I don’t need you to share with me on this one. The last thing I need is to spend a week at work wondering if this dog has a life-threatening blood disease or something. What would I do if I came home to a dead dog? Can any of you imagine me handling that well? Do you remember how I reacted when Mickey died? I swear I stopped breathing. What do you do with a dead dog!!?!? Do you throw it away? Bury it? Do you have to report the death to anyone but the Internet (if you’re me)?

Let’s just pray it’s a bruise and move on.