Dog Jail

Yesterday I had occasion to vaccum up my bedroom floor. My boys are sloppy eaters (ok, they're disgusting) and even when pursuing something as innocuous as dog biscuts, they always leave a trail. You should have seen the size of the crumbs that were going up the tube. Jagged, lopsided. A terror to step on barefoot.

My dogs pretty-much have the run of the house. They sleep on my antique furniture and at night, Cosmos deigns to allow me into his bed. They rummage through the pantry and refrigerator at will. They shred paper, scatter trash, play with my dirty laundry. All without reprisal. But there is one commandment in my home.

Thou shalt not eat thy dog biscuits in my bed.

That rule came about through a lesson hard learned. One of my dogs past took a biscuit in bed, and I'm here to tell you that not eating crackers in bed, lest the crumbs disturb you, is nothing compared to rolling over in the dead of night onto a piece of Milk Bone. The commandment is a hard-and-fast rule in my home and seldom tested.

Seldom. There was that time a couple of years ago with Cosmos...


It was spring. Every spring my dogs seem to go through a phase where they are re establishing who is Alpha. Or should we say Beta, because I have the honor - just barely - of being Alpha in our home. My status as such is directly tied to the can opener, but such as it is, it's mine.

Generally, they fight with eath other. Snarling teeth and laid back ears and a lot of posturing. I learned early on not to get in the middle of their arguments. Generally they don't hurt each other. But if I interfere, I get bit. By both of them.

One day, I came into the bedroom to find Cosmos in the middle of the bed. (Those were the days when Cosmos could still jump in bed on his own.) He gave me a somewhat malovelent glare when I walked in, so I knew that something was up. I took a closer look and sure enough, he was just starting to eat a dog biscuit. "Get out of the bed!" I roared. And he laid there and stared at me, declaring himself as in charge.

"Get out of the bed. NOW!" No move on his part.

I stepped closer. "You know that you are not allowed to eat dog biscuits in bed." Cosmos seemed to rise to his feet like strings were pulling him upwards from the shoulders and hips. If looks could kill, I would not be typing this story now.

"Get out!" Cosmos slowly reached down and picked up his dog biscuit. Then even slower, turned his eyes-of-defiance on me. And peed. Right there on my down comforter, through the sheets, the mattress pad, and into the mattress itself!

To say I was furious was an understatement. Don't get me wrong. I love my dogs. I love Cosmos. But at times, I could kill the little son of a bitch. And I can say that because he was a son of a bitch. Really. Think about it.

Well, I don't believe in physical punishment, especially of dogs. I removed his dog biscuit, yelled at him until he cowered, removed the sheets and blankets, and did laundry. I was not happy.

It took about 2 1/2 hours to complete the job and remake the bed. Comforters take a long time to dry. But finally the task was done and I was feeling much more kindly towards Cozie. Kindly enough to give both dogs biscuits once again.

A few minutes later, I walked into the bedroom. Cosmos was again in the middle of the bed, munching down. I screamed. He rose quickly and didn't even give me a chance to get him down. He gave me yet another malevolent glare full of fury at being disturbed at his snack and let loose. Yes, you guessed it. He peed in the bed for the 2nd time that day.

At that point, I had had it. I knew that I was going to have to go through the entire cleaning again. Hours and hours wasted because my dog is a pig. And so I came as close to getting truly physical with him as I ever have. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him down off of the mattress. Dragged him across the floor. Through the master bathroom. And in there, I installed him inside of the glass-door shower. Dog jail.

Cosmos was miserable. He barked and cried and scrached and made a rucus of unprecedented volume. And trust me, his precedented volume was at many decibles. I was so mad that I made a point of being seen by him, but paid no attention. I went about the business of cleaning our bed yet again. Wash, dry, another 2 1/2 hours. That's all I did that day. Laundry. As a result of a dog.

Cosmos was paroled once the bed was remade. He was quite contrite. And to this day, he has never peed in the bed again.

On Being A Dog: A "Cosmos" Post

I love to Blog (I have a much wider audience than by e-mailing my immediate friends). There are times that I must Blog about my Mom, especially when she makes a fool (I almost typed food) out of herself.

I am a dog and being thus distinguished, there are some things that are simply apparent.

I will eat any food so long as it is not fruit or vegetable.
I like to sleep a lot.
I like to go for walks every day. They give me opportunity to pick up my pee-mail.
And I enjoy passing copious amounts of gas.

The thing about people is that they think they don't like my gas. Mom included. She complains of course, but underneath her negative commentary is a sense of relief. You see, she passes gas too and thank God for me. She can blame it on me when her friends are over.

Last night, she thought she really had me. She ate curry in her dinner and was thus affected. She tooted and tooted the whole night long. I overheard her laughing about it with her friends, and I even heard her say that she got "revenge' upon me.

She just never get's it. She doesn't understand. I am a dog. I love all things disgusting.

I live for curry farts.