Monday, August 17, 2009

A Dog Named Blitz - Chapter Three: "Puppy Troubles" Part 2

For background on this serial, please click here. You can also start at the previous section

While we tried to keep the basement filled with distractions, the only distraction that Blitz really enjoyed, and really captured her attention, was our cat Trixie. Trixie was a two-year-old mutt that we got as a kitten from an animal shelter, and she was at a age that she'd gone past the ability to consider the new addition to our family as a buddy. In fact, this little puppy, with her quick moves and monopolization of human attention, was something to be feared and loathed. To Blitz, however, Trixie represented yet another member of her new pack. And a fun one at that! She hunched up her back, made that funny hissing sound and really liked bonking dogs on the nose with her paw. What fun!

Trixie was also a completely indoor cat, so her experience to anything new was confined to new people coming to our house. While new people posed a problem for our standoffish feline, this new source of noise, movement, and rambunctious behavior was something that was beyond a problem and went to something that just could not be tolerated.

Despite our best efforts, integration of the two would not work. Trixie demanded peace and space, and Blitz just wanted to play, regardless of the consequences. Thus, a Korean-like division of the house was enacted, with the cat confined to the upstairs, the dog confined to the downstairs, and the stairs themselves to serve as the our very own demilitarized zone. It was a solution that seemed to work well, as long as the DMZ was not crossed. While my wife and I spent our evenings separated due to the needs of our respective pet, the peace and calm the situation afforded was worth it.

Unfortunately, that peace was a tenuous one, as a JAILBREAK by Blitz was known to bring about complete chaos.

Her first JAILBREAK was committed one late summer weekday morning. Upon rising, I toddled downstairs in my robe and let Blitz out, fed her, let her out again, and put her up until I let her out one more time before I departed for work. Unfortunately, I must have been lackadaisical in my confinement of her, for as reached the top of the stairs and was headed out the front door to pick up the paper at the end of the driveway, I heard a noise coming up the stairs that was either a pack of elephants or one very excited yellow dog exploring her newfound freedom.

Since we were lacking in the pachyderm department downstairs, I was not surprised to see a little yellow flash arrive at the top of the steps - tongue lagging, tail wagging, and completely keyed up for some substantive puppy fun in this forbidden territory.

While I may not have been surprised, Trixie, who was standing about five feet away from me, was incredibly surprised, and in her "fight or flight" moment, chose the latter. And the path she chose was out the still open front door from where I had just entered after getting the paper. And hot on her tail for this impromptu game of tag was Blitz. I spun on my heels and engaged in the pursuit myself.

The cat was flying and employing her best Walter Payton imitation. The dog followed every movement, but had a tough time closing the five yard gap. I was approximately the same distance behind the dog, screaming at her a vile combination of profanity and commands she had not yet learned, all completed with my robe flying up in the air, revealing for all my boxer shorts and potentially other things. Our serpentine train weaved to one side of the front yard, then out to the street and down to the neighbor's, then around the neighbor's house one full rotation, then to our back yard. All the time the cat is juking, the dog pursuing, and I am screaming and holding down my robe. For those looking on (and, unfortunately, based on the faces of my neighbors looking out the window as we sped past, I know there were some) it had to look like the closing skit of a Benny Hill episode, minus the music and pretty girls.

As we came around to the front of the house after our second circle, Trixie happened to notice the sanctuary of the open front door, which I thankfully left open in my haste to join the pets on their chase. The cat sped into the house and up to the shelter of the kitchen table while I marshaled the puppy interloper back to her half of the house. The ramifications of all the excitement were one very angry cat, (at least) one set of entertained neighbors, one very tired pet owner, and one very entertained puppy.

Despite a verbal scolding, the yellow face that greeted me from behind the gate after her confinement was one that said "That was a BLAST! Can we do it again? Huh? Huh?" Unfortunately, Trixie met me upstairs with a face that said, "Traitor! You will pay dearly for such treachery! Sleep with one eye open, foul scoundrel, for my vengeance will strike upon thee at an hour unbeknownst..."

Needless to say, I'm a dog person.

Subsequent jailbreaks were confined to the house, and while we were witness to very few of them, based on forensic evidence obtained at the crime scene, most involved play/harassment of the cat, going to the bathroom multiple times, and violation of my wife's Beany-Baby collection. Often times we came home from work to be greeted at the door by a happy little dog and house scattered with what can only be described as a massacre of small stuffed animals, unbelievable quantities of dog poop, and one very ticked off cat. My wife describes these episodes as "doggy day at the circus," I think in part because the dog has the day of her life, and in part because the house is usually left looking and smelling like wild animals have spent the day there.

Note that the impacts of "doggy day at the circus" were not just confined to the upstairs: often times we would find Beany-Baby victims scatted downstairs and all along the DMZ; their gutted and lifeless bodies strewn about, and their bean innards splattered everywhere. The entire house was fair game for the dog's activities, and all that was missing from these scenes is someone writing "Helter Skelter" on the wall.

The scene and the smell the horror was incredible, and was surpassed only by the clean-up duty that was to follow. The dog was always immediately taken back down to her proper spot, and was scolded and secured. The integrity of her confinement was always double checked at this point. Despite the scolding and captivity, Blitz remained remorseless, and seemingly contemplating how she may achieve her next JAILBREAK all the while being punished for her last. We found ourselves all wondering along with her.

To go to the next chapter, click here

No comments:

Post a Comment

Please feel free to include any thoughts you may have. Know, however, that kiddos might be reading this, so please keep the adult language to yourself. I know, for me to ask that language is clean is a stretch...