The Family Zoo
I was looking at my 14 yr. old dog. He is such a sympathetic friend. He hears the disappointment in my voice when I tell him I probably won’t make the playoffs in my fantasy baseball league this season. His eyes seem to answer, “That’s what you get for drafting Mets first and second. Citi Field is where good players go to suck. Besides, you have more important matters to attend to, like whether it’s the thyroid medicine or my arthritis pills that’s giving me runny poop.”
We adopted Alfie, a Shepherd/Golden Retriever mix, from a foster home twelve years ago. Our first dog, Shadow, had just passed away from cancer. We vowed to take a break for while after watching him pass. But then Cara saw Alfie’s picture online. He looked like Shadow’s little brother. She begged me to go and at least look at him. Seeing as how he was an hour away, I assumed only a vicious, rabid attack would prevent his adoption.
We arrived to find him surrounded by five small dogs and a few cats. He looked defeated, like a convicted lifer (see James Whitmore in The Shawshank Redemption). We both agreed to let him off with time served and escorted him to freedom in our car’s back seat. For years he has been a mellow fellow, until the arrival of our second dog.
Once my in-laws moved into assisted living, we inherited their Cairn terrier/Chihuahua named Louie. The Cairn Terrier is a breed originating in the Scottish Highlands. The Chihuahua is one of the smallest breeds of dog and is named after the Mexican state of Chihuahua. The result of mixing the two breeds is one paranoid pooch.
Louie is every inch Cara’s dog. He is devoted to her. He won’t let me take him for a walk without her. If she’s busy, she escorts him out the door, fooling him that she’s coming. By the time we’re halfway down the block, he doesn’t notice anymore. On our way back, if I let him off leash 100 feet from our door, he sprints to the house because he misses her so much.
He’s extremely adorable until someone is walking in front of our house. He then goes on a barking spree that doesn’t stop. To compound things, he sets off Alf, who has never barked at anyone or anything. This leads to a canine cacophony that amplifies my tinnitus without fail. We live close to San Francisco International Airport. I’ll bet people in airplanes are saying, “Wait. Did you hear that?”
Louie gets along with Alfie, but he is certain every other dog is out to get him. On his walk, if he sniffs another dog a half block away he goes ballistic. He spins around in circles yapping incessantly until the intruder is out of sight. Alfie doesn’t even notice. He’s far too busy sniffing grass and rocks where other dogs have peed. I sometimes forget that when he’s licking my face.
Just last week we welcomed Cindy Mayweather into our home. She is a 2 lb. black and white kitten named after singer Janelle Monae’s alter-ego. I didn’t see this coming but there seems to be a new sheriff in town. She prowls around like she owns the place. She has commandeered Louie’s bed and he is at a loss with how to deal with it. He just turns and meekly skulks away. In the morning she awakes with her engine revving high. She does laps on our bed forcing Louie to the floor. Then she finds him and takes whack at an ear or a defending paw.
This is a new look for Lou. He’s been the shrimp with a chip on his shoulder. “Let me at him. I’ll annihilate ‘em!” Now he aimlessly wanders from room to room, mumbling to himself. “I…I don’t get it. Things were going so well. I used to run this joint.”
I must admit I’m enjoying this. It’s payback for him making my ears ring. On our walk this afternoon I was shocked when Louie didn’t bark at a poodle across the street. The dog is not himself. He may need therapy. Is there puppy Prozac? Fido Lexapro?
Time will tell if this new leadership can stick. Maybe Cindy Mayweather will get tired, stop dominating the domicile and relinquish control. Undoubtedly, once she’s older, she’ll mellow out. She’ll get into a daily routine. She’ll just prowl around, eat, poop, and go to sleep.
Just like me.