CRAZY DOG LADY
27 August 2005
I watched "Mister Mom," a new reality show, last night (what can I say? I have no life.)
Two fathers take on the tasks of running the house while their wives are being pampered at a spa. As with any reality show, the fathers are given various tasks to do.
In truth, I wasn't glued to it, but I had it on in the background while I was working, so I did not become well-versed in the finer points of the show.
However, one of the "tasks" was helping a neighbor (a neighbor picked by the show, of course). I'm not sure, but I think one family got a bunch of kittens to take care of overnight. The other family got a mother dog and several puppies to take care of overnight. (Naturally, my ears perked up at that one!) I remember the father feeling smug, putting out pads for the puppies and then his shock at waking up and discovering how much dog poop there was...everywhere.
In the morning, the animals were picked up and later in the afternoon, a woman arrived to give the house a "white glove" inspection. Everyone had 30 minutes to get the house, specifically the bathroom, ready for inspection.
The house with the puppies overlooked a bit of dog poop on the bathroom floor, and the bathroom was labeled "toxic waste."
I thought about all those houses you see with crazy old ladies holed up with 100 cats, garbage and feces everywhere, empty cat food cans lying around, and cats everywhere.
Then I thought about how our guest bathroom looks when I'm bottle feeding puppies, who are not at all careful about where they poop or where they step, how I had to wash it with Lysol to remove the vestiges of eau de puppy poop and then fill it with Febreeze to remove the last vestiges of Lysol.
"Toxic waste" would be too tame for me, I fear.
I thought about the back yard, which has definitely been "dog-ed" with Sydney here, as what greenery there was has been torn up by her romps and wrestles with Sheila.
Then tonight, a couple of kids showed up at the front door, selling something for the high school football team.
I never did find out what they were selling because Kimba walked out the front door and I was trying to hold both Sheila and Sydney by their collars. They were both twisting around trying to get free. Sydney was barking. I finally told the kids I couldn't talk to them (which was good because I didn't have any money anyway), and I shut the door, then went outside to bring Kimba back.
Sydney started barking, a kind of mixture of bark and howl, which she does when she's hungry and won't take no for an answer. I picked up the 3 dog bowls off the floor and arranged them on the counter and began filling them, while three bodies crowded around my feet, waiting to see who was going to be fed first.
I looked at the dust puppies gathering in the hall, the remains of dinner in the sink, blankets on the family room floor for the dogs to sleep on, a cage, towels and blankets in the closet (which has no door) ready for the next batch of puppies, and I suddenly realized: my god, I've become the crazy old dog lady.
It will be just my luck that I'll drop dead while Walt is still in Washington and when I'm finally discovered, people will look around at the house, at the dogs, at the toxic waste and I'll make all the newscasts and people will shake their head at what could possibly have led a woman to hermit herself with all those dogs and all that clutter.
I've become my father.
PHOTO OF THE DAY