Come 7:30am I sat for breakfast alone, since good old parentals went away for some sort of serious business, I assume. Just right under my chair parked our 3-year-old problem dog shih-tzu mix breed (with poodle, I think) which I oddly named Pocholo. I just love the way it sounds - Pocholo. My lips form into a stiff circular shape when I say it, and usually I like looking at myself in the mirror when I do it.
So I went on with my routine when this dog, who hasn't been washed (yes, washed, since at different points in his life, he looked like a rug, a furball, a cut-out from a couch interior, a floormat, or sometimes when I look at him straight into the eye, a stuffed toy in the form a big rat) started gnarling at me in his pitchy, annoying fashion, perhaps he was raising complains for famine. So I, being the generous and affectionate person that I am, filled his bowl with a handful of eggs and ground beef.
As I witnessed how he wolfed down the lot, he went around the house and landed backyard where he saw a half-open tub of abandoned laundry from which he started drawing his face closer to gulp in what he might have thought was water. So instead of drinking laundry soap I gave him real water. I don't know why but I felt excited.
You see, I miss having a pet dog. A fun, friendly, loving pet dog. After my shih-tzu died out of accidentally chewing overused batteries, I swore I would leave much time for me to grieve. She was my dearest, and I not in my wildest dreams rose a picture of her death without poise and grace- two things that she has always maintained except when she was constipated. I just thought maybe I could treat this other dog Pocholo the same way I treated her. Thought it was time for me to start a new relationship I have always longed for.
Just when I thought it's now time to lend him a space in my heart, this dog started running uncontrollably and crashed the kitchen door, swung himself around the trash bin and almost caused a minor typhoon, leaving major trails of plastic wrappers and empty cans all over the kitchen area. Then he started taking chunks out of my shoe box. As I stopped him from causing further damage, he saw clear sight of my gym shoes where he energetically vomited up the lot he ate. And then he ate it again. Wow. I have never seen him so happy. He discovered a perfect way to get twice as much mileage out of each meal. Wonderful.
Without question, I dropped off the thought of liking him. Sure I miss having a pet, but not a problem pet who ruminates on interiors and throws up on your living room mat without thoughts of mercy.
I thought about taking a shower, but I got badly frozen in bed and I don't feel like being touched by water. So I went back to the boob tube and started surfing for better tv shows. In no time, I fell asleep, and I forgot to ask somebody to wake me up before 10am.
As I dreamt of New York, a trench coat, and newly highlighted hair to boot, I felt a warm slab of something just below my ankles that felt like it has been lathered with a generous amount of lubricant. It was Pocholo. I don't know if he was asking for food again or he just wants to surprise me with a dead rat clutched under his paws but I ignored him.
I felt the tongue again, fresh from dog barf and I have never been annoyed that much. I cast a quick view on the clock, and alas, it was 10am. This dog, amidst his wild acts and destructive nature, never fails to be a consistent alarm clock.
At 10am, just a couple of hours before I was unusually erupted, disgusted, and irritated by my dog's unruly behavior, he was again below my feet, trying to win my attention as he motioned his tongue from my ankle down my feet. I smiled. It touched me in some sort of a strange way, it felt good I didn't hold it back.
I just love dogs. All of them dogs. After all, Pocholo is still a dog. A psychotic, deranged mutt who always hightens-up-my-blood-pressure-from-time-to-time kind of dog. Honestly, I don't know if I could love him the way I loved Wanda, and from right here I could already smell a love-hate relationship between the both of us. But the smallest of the sweet things that dogs do never fail to melt my heart. And this time this dog has lifted up my day to a different light. So maybe, just maybe, I could still give Pocholo another chance. :)
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