Tag Archives: pets
Happy Father’s Day to all of you who parent animals.
When Alice first came home with us, she was a little intimidated by the bath, but she jumped into bed with us and has since never left our sides.
We were at a well-known flea market in the area with three of our friends. One of them was looking for a dog. We didn’t realize part of the flea market was a puppy mill.
I lost the group in the smell and all the people who had come to buy particular breeds. When I finally found @everzalez, he was leaning over a caged kitty pool, with a look in his eye. One of the breeders was selling off an accident her husband’s hunting dog just had. They weren’t breeding bird dogs, they just happened to have a litter. The hunter told us he didn’t want to just unleash them in the woods.
Lola was originally named Lucky. She was one of those dogs a hunter just let loose in the woods.
They are both wild, East Texas gals.
We looked up suggestions of their breed online and we THINK Alice is an English Springer Spaniel and Lola is An American Fox Hound.
Ali and Lola stand over me like gangsters looking for money. But they don’t care if we’re broke. They want a never-ending source of love, and they want it now.
I try to get them to turn their attention to a pink sock nearby, but it’s no use. Lola puts down a paw hard into my shoulder. I’m not going anywhere.
With both hands I push on Lola’s chest, trying to lift her off of me. But she has this maneuver where she falls to her side and burros up to my face.
But Ali drops to my chest first and starts in with the kisses. Lola makes a frustrated sound and goes over to the window to watch the rain come down.
So this is why I’m always covered in scratches and bruises. Every morning starts off with a dog wrestling match. I don’t mind that I always lose.
When I wake up, the first thing i see are two furry faces. I feel the movement on the bed of two bodies trying to subdue their tail shaking.
The girls have lived with us long enough to know that I don’t appreciate hyper dogs first thing in the morning. But they still want to be right in my face when I first wake up.
Some mornings, the girls aren’t in bed. I’ve over slept and they have already started their day. If I’m feeling adventurous, I whistle a bird call and I hear them, one following the other, scamper up the wooden staircase outside, through the dog doors and around the corner. Their nails scratch against the hardwoods and they leap onto the bed.
This sort of excitement usually gets Lola really fired up. As soon as she lands on the bed, she attacks Ali. I usually watch the battle from my pillow. It doesn’t take long before their attention is turned to me, and I have to hide under the blankets. This usually doesn’t matter as Lola and Ali instinctively know how to burrow. I always loose this game.
Driving home from work I kept thinking about the car wheels on the smooth highway pavement. I couldn’t wait to put on my roller skates and take my dog Alice for a walk, just to feel the wheels on smooth pavement.
I ventured down a different street that day. The sidewalks must have been new. The manicured lawns and empty streets welcomed a beginner skater.
Alice and I skated along until I noticed a man watering his lawn. I slowed down and we smile our greetings. I positioned my body to continue skating forward, but Alice had another idea. She cut across me, heading straight for the man with the hose.
I went down surprising slow. The tops of my knee caps hit first, and then rolled down so the bottoms scraped the smooth surface of new sidewalk. Then my wrists hit the ground. In slow motion my glasses flew from my face.
Alice started to whimper.
I rolled on my back, looking at the sky lined horizontally on the left and right with freshly cut grass. I wanted to close my eyes and rest before getting back up.
I noticed the man with the hose had a young son, who had also witnessed the fall. “I guess I’m a pretty bad example for your son. I’m not wearing knee pads,” I say.
“What’s the dog’s name?” the man asks. “Alice,” I respond as I take off my skates.
“Does it – does it hurt?” the kid asked.
No son. My pride is so swollen I really can feel the pain yet.
But instead I really say, “No. I’ve taken worse falls,” and I pull myself up.
The man covers his face and despite himself, starts to laugh.
“…and more embarrassing moments,” I add, trying to laugh off the adrenaline rush.
“Have you had stitches?” the boy continues staring at my knees, which I realize have begun to release blood that is flowing down into my socks.
“Yeah. I have. You know,” I start to explain myself, as usual, “I’ve been practicing around the tennis courts for about two months now. I thought it was time to go out.”
“Are those new roller skates?” The man asks.
“Well, yeah, but like I said, I’ve been practicing.” I don’t know where this conversation is going and I don’t know how to stop it. I could feel the blood continuing to drip down my knees.
“Well, I just live around the block so I think I’ll be okay.” Thinking back, I don’t remember how we said good bye.
When I got home I realized I had forgotten how to tend to bleeding body parts. I couldn’t think of the first thing to do. When it finally came to me I realized that it wasn’t so much as I had forgotten what to do, but really, I didn’t know what to do.
There has always been someone around to help me with my wounds; to take care of them for me. And now I’m staring at my bloody knees wondering what to do first.
When the idea finally comes to me, I wonder if we even own alcohol peroxide. Is that even what it’s called? Do I pour it on directly or get an applicant? I chose to get a paper towel and drown it the liquid. I slapped it on my knee and began yelping.
I pulled it away from my knee and most of the paper stayed on the bloody mess. How was I going to clean this now? Did I even have band aids this big?
I decide to just let it air out first. The pain of the peroxide cleaning my skin was odd. It’s like little pulsating groups of sizzling bubbles.
Bruise check: left wrist, right wrist, left knee cap on bottom and top, and multiple around the right knee cap.
When I was younger, I wrote in my journal that 23 was the year you transform into a grown up.
Today is my 23rd birthday.
Welcome to adulthood.