I Tweeted about this, but I feel the need to expand on it. Last night I let my dog out to pee around midnight. This is her favorite time to pee, presumably because she’s black and blends into the night like a ninja and can wreak mild acts of mayhem. She’s an old dog, and more and more I’m realizing that she’s using her old age as a means of getting away with all kinds of shit. Recently, for instance, she pooped in the middle of the road. I have no idea what possessed her to do that, since we have a perfectly good yard for that sort of thing. (On a side note, she doesn’t even like pooping in our yard. She prefers to poop in our neighbor’s yard. Maybe it’s somehow better than ours, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a power play. My neighbor fences in her dogs, so perhaps my dog likes doing her business in front of them to remind them that she can poop wherever she damn well pleases and they can’t.)
Anyway, she had been out there a while, so I was standing on the porch wondering what kind of shenanigans she was getting into and what I would have to apologize to my neighbors for in the morning. Despite the fact that my dog is now deaf, I was clapping my hands and whistling. (I don’t know why I do this. The alternative is to admit that I am powerless as I stand there under the porch light and try to summon my dog with my mind powers.) It was pitch-black, but when I heard the unmistakable pitter-patter of paws on pavement, I sighed and rolled my eyes and grumbled, “It’s about time.” And then I realized that it was not my dog. It was an entirely different dog sprinting directly at me, convinced that because I was the only one around clapping and whistling, I must be its owner. My dog apparently saw this happening from wherever she was (I assume she was pooping in the driveway) and it galvanized her into action, because dammit, she was the alpha dog in charge of this bumbling pack of humans, and hell would freeze over before she allowed some speedy terrier to swoop in off the street and take her spot.
So I had these two dogs running at me, and my first instinct was to shut the door and let them sniff each other’s rears until something had been settled. But by some miracle, my 16-year-old geezer of a dog beat the terrier to the door. We both ran inside and I hugged her, feeling like we had solidified our bond into something magical, whereupon she brushed me off like it was no big thing and fell asleep in the middle of the hallway.