“Do you normally dress up your dog?” My friend Dan asks me.
“Unfortunately, Bleu can get temperamental and vindictive
with clothing on,” I reply.
I wish he was one of those careless dogs that let me throw
on tight-fitted San Diego Chargers jerseys during football season and ugly
Christmas sweaters during the holiday season. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on
clothing for him, but, I have learned the hard way that Bleu has a mind of his
own when I put any garment on his bully back.
It was a cool Black Friday night in November, and my friend Shelli and I
decided to go out for yappy hour with our dogs to La Puesto. I was looking
forward to spending my Saturday evening at the newest Mexican hot spot at the
Headquarters in downtown San Diego— a spacious, outdoor area with heat lamps
for wimpy San Diegans, loungy, comfortable patio furniture, killer margaritas,
and delectable tacos (my favorite is the vegan cactus taco). BUT, Bleu had
other plans for that evening. I had just purchased him a new doggy jacket for
our wicked San Diego winter: a bright blue zip-up hoodie from American Apparel;
I thought it would accentuate his blue/blonde brindle coat. Instead of shopping
for others on Black Friday, I was shopping for my dog of course. That’s what pet
parents do.
I decided, in order to get him used to his hoodie, I would
put it on him before we went out while I was showering. Bad idea. It was
unusually quiet in my one bedroom condo as I lathered overpriced Aveda shampoo
in my long dark hair. Why hadn’t Bleu peaked his head into the shower like a
peeping Tom like he normally does? I like to crouch down and kiss his nose when he peeks his head in, and
then he'll leave satisfied knowing he's still the center of attention, and waits for me on the bath mat until I get out. But this time, there was not sign of
Bleu. When I finished my shower, I felt fresh, relaxed, and ready for a fun
night out with drinks, good food, and puppy play time. But instead, the scene
that unfolded before my eyes would make anyone lose their lunch. The first
thing I noticed was Bleu’s new jacket, crumbled up, laying languidly next to the bathtub with brown spots. He
somehow managed to wiggle his way out of it and pull it off of himself, with
amazing bulldog abilities. I was kind of impressed. But then I saw it. Diarrhea. And
lots of it . I was not impressed. I was disgusted. It was smeared everywhere.
All over my bedroom and living room walls, rugs, hardwood floor, up his doggy
stairs, and onto my bed.
“Bleu! What have you done?!” I exclaimed.
He just looked at me like: “You know this your fault for putting that ostentatious costume
on me. I won’t be caught dead in that silly thing in public mom.”
I had to call Shelli and tell her I would be spending the
next hour or two cleaning up Bleu's excrement on my hands and knees. She didn’t really understand, and I think
she thought I was lying to get out of happy hour. I scrubbed frantically with
paper towels and soap and water like Cinderella while Bleu watched me
condescendingly from the bed, curled up like a king from his thrown. “That’s
what you deserve,” he was saying with his big blue accusatory eyes.
I finished cleaning up his sh*t show earlier than expected
and called Shelli to tell her yappy hour was still on, although I kind of lost
my appetite and just wanted tequila now, and lots of it, thanks to my loose-stooled
asinine canine.
To punish him, I put his jacket back on his, slapped on
doggy reindeer ears Petco was handing out for free with purchase that day and made him wear them throughout the night. He was not
amused. But almost everyone at the restaurant was and stopped to tell me “how cute” my
little doggy reindeer was. If they only knew the truth…
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