Can We Keep Him?

Car break-in last year

I’m happy to report that this Labor Day weekend was much, much quieter than the last. My car wasn’t broken into; my purse and belongings weren’t stolen; and TJ & I didn’t have to spend Friday night at the Santa Monica Police Department. While, on the adventure scale, it’s hard to top crime, we did have some excitement last weekend in the form of a trip to the vet and a dog attack:

Ever since I gave Maizey her yearly bath last month, she’s been digging & biting at the base of her tail. On Friday, when the hair in that spot had completely disappeared, I knew it was time to visit the vet. And, honestly, we were due for another cash-burning session there. I mean, it has been about 3 long months since the last visit. Long story short, I found out her itching was due to a combination of a) me using baby shampoo on her instead of hypoallergenic dog shampoo (which I’m sure they sell at the office for a pretty price) and b) an anal gland that was ready to burst. Lovely.

Seymour

Also while there, I had a slight run-in with a cat-toting, Porche-driving, 60-something, over-processed brunette, ON HER WAY TO ITALY, who demanded to be seen before lil’ ole’ me & Maize, who were humbly and so unfashionably waiting in line, with no other destination in our schedule than home, 3 miles away.

So, that was the beginning of the long weekend. We’re also doggy-sitting for my friend, coworker, and fellow OH-to-CA transplant (that’s one person, there), who doggy-sits Maizey when we’re out of town. The pup’s name is Seymour, and he’s a rotund Doxon/Chihuahua mix with bowed legs, a raspy bark, gray hair on his chin, and, apparently, an issue with female authority. On Saturday, as I reached under a chair to pull the toy away from him that he was attempting to eat, he came at me with the physical force of a 7-pound dog (and the emotional force of Napoleon). I ran across the room and stopped to inspect my minimally-injured finger – then, I made the mistake of using said finger to scold, “No! Bad Seymour!” This set him off again, and he tore across the apartment with murder in his black eyes.

And where was my loving, protective companion, Maizey? According to TJ, staring at me, motionless, in the middle of the living room. Thanks, Maize.

I’m happy to report that, aside from that outburst, Seymour’s been a loving, cuddly little guy. He seems to want nothing more than to be next to us (on us, preferably). He’s become my yoga sidekick, nibbling on my fingers for me to pet him & cuddling up next to me for each seated pose. While I find his companionship genuine and adorable, TJ is convinced it’s all part of Seymour’s scheme to take over the apartment and displace Maizey, who I thought would be more than ecstatic about having another dog around but was actually very unhappy about her new housemate.

The innate hostility between new dog and old dog showed itself in the form of a pissing match. Literally. It seems they work in the medium of pee. On Wednesday, I spent a couple hours moving from one pee puddle to another, scrubbing and cleaning. I couldn’t help but laugh in that insane/tired way, because it was totally clear who made which mess: the perpetrator wouldn’t go near his/her evidence. So, it was Maizey’s pee on the couch and Seymour’s on the floor by the plants. Maizey’s pee on the balcony and Seymour’s pee on our bathroom rug. And then, again, Seymour’s pee on the balcony.

Oh my.

Getting along (finally)

And then yesterday, they were friends. Sincerely happy doggies sharing a water bowl and the balcony. Maizey seems OK with Seymour using her sex pillow as a pillow (if you’ve ever visited, you know what I mean about the sex pillow). I sat on the floor, and we had a 3-way tug-of-war, and I have to admit, 7-pound Seymour held his own.

I wanna keep him. I think Maizey does, too. Now we just need to work on TJ (and Seymour’s owners).