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So, I've got my bagged packed; toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, deodorant (I am very low maintenance), pjs, 2 changes of clothes, and my one bit of decadence - my red satin house robe (it has a lovely soft lining). I've made the house ready for myself when I return. My clothes for next week are washed, I'll change the sheets on the bed tomorrow, I've done the grocery shopping for next week except for the perishables, filled up the truck, and all that is left is a bath for Lutzi.
He's got a short coat and he lives indoors so he really doesn't need a bath that often, but he is going to the vet and I want him to smell clean. At the house, I would take him outside, hose him down and scrub him up. Well, that's not an option in apartment life. So, we have to do the bathtub tango. Lutzi is convinced the bathtub is evil. We struggled and struggled and he is heavy and strong. I finally had to literally pick him and put him in the tub. This actually scared the poor thing and he pooped a little. I've never seen him scared. Penitent, sure. He hates to hear "bad dog" or "no" and he does the whole apologetic dog thing where he's trying to convince me he didn't really mean to chew up my copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. He just couldn't help himself. Anyway, he's in the tub and he's shaking and my shower head is useless for dog washing so I have a large plastic pitcher and wet him down and give him a bath. It's a whole thing, and he's acting like I'm killing him. So then I dry him off and decide he really has earned a walk.
I don't think any of my boxers liked baths. Hulda was really well trained and would step into it on her own, but I'd get these looks like "whyyyy do you haaaate me so much?" Post-bath boxers are funny, wet, wiggly things. They like the way it feels afterward, but the process. It's the pits.
Anyway, I get dressed (because I'm not dumb enough to bathe my dog in the tub with clothes on, seriously, I'll just get soaked), and put his harness on and we go for a walk. It's been raining all day here. Once October passes, we tend to get a lot of rain (well, a lot for us) for the next few months. Miserable, cold (again, for us) rain. The rain has let up and it actually feels nice. I would guess its between 60 and 70 degrees. The nights have been around 70-80 for the last few months. In the summer the nights often don't fall below 80-90 degrees. Anyway, I'm rambling. The grass is wet.
The first part of our walk is on the side walk, and then we get to this dog area. Its one of those grassy sinkholes designed to catch runoff, so the grass is really, really wet. What I don't see but Lutzi does, is a woman walking her Boston terrier. We are just on the edge of where the ground slopes down when Lutzi lunges.
Yes, I lost my footing and fell, and then got dragged at least five feet so he could do all the important nose sniffing. I'm going to have to admit to not knowing my dog as well as I thought I did. I thought he was dog aggressive. Turns out to not be the case. Interesting, because his body language screams that he is about to attack. So much so he unnerves other dogs. He's not.
But, I'm still on the ground, holding onto his leash for dear life and I can't steady myself enough to get up while he's pulling me because the grass is wet. How dumb am I people? Seriously.
The owner of the Boston must have thought I was nuts because the whole strikes me as fucking hilarious and I start laughing hysterically. I am a day away from surgery and just got taken down by dog and dragged through the mud. I'm sorry, but that's funny as hell.
I'm not going to be getting up any time soon as long as the Boston and Lutzi are having a love fest. The Boston is a little uncertain due to Lutzi's size and enthusiasm, so he sniffs and backs away, sniffs and backs away. Every time he backs away, I get dragged downhill a little farther. I kinda wish I had a video of this.
The woman is really, really worried I've been hurt, which I haven't, and suggests we trade dogs. Um, what? How is this going to solve anything? The best we'll accomplish is to get the leads hopelessly tangled because trading dogs means the Boston has to get closer to me, me who is attached and sliding with Lutzi. Lutzi wants to play with the Boston and he's likely to get his way because at the moment, he had the upper hand.
I say, um, no could you just...
She picks up her dog and hurries off. Now Lutzi decides to check on me. Yeah, dog, thanks for your concern.
I don't particularly want him dragging me downhill, but this was a nice bit of levity in an otherwise tense week for me. I've not slept very well for the last few nights. This experience has made me decide its time to teach Lutzi some basic manners. I won't get him anywhere near as good as his mother, because I lack the inclination as does Lutzi. But heel, sit, down, stay. Those are all about to be a part of his life. Just as soon as I recover.
I hadn't meant to post again this week, but this was just too funny not to share. I'll check back in after the surgery and let you all know how it went.
He's got a short coat and he lives indoors so he really doesn't need a bath that often, but he is going to the vet and I want him to smell clean. At the house, I would take him outside, hose him down and scrub him up. Well, that's not an option in apartment life. So, we have to do the bathtub tango. Lutzi is convinced the bathtub is evil. We struggled and struggled and he is heavy and strong. I finally had to literally pick him and put him in the tub. This actually scared the poor thing and he pooped a little. I've never seen him scared. Penitent, sure. He hates to hear "bad dog" or "no" and he does the whole apologetic dog thing where he's trying to convince me he didn't really mean to chew up my copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. He just couldn't help himself. Anyway, he's in the tub and he's shaking and my shower head is useless for dog washing so I have a large plastic pitcher and wet him down and give him a bath. It's a whole thing, and he's acting like I'm killing him. So then I dry him off and decide he really has earned a walk.
I don't think any of my boxers liked baths. Hulda was really well trained and would step into it on her own, but I'd get these looks like "whyyyy do you haaaate me so much?" Post-bath boxers are funny, wet, wiggly things. They like the way it feels afterward, but the process. It's the pits.
Anyway, I get dressed (because I'm not dumb enough to bathe my dog in the tub with clothes on, seriously, I'll just get soaked), and put his harness on and we go for a walk. It's been raining all day here. Once October passes, we tend to get a lot of rain (well, a lot for us) for the next few months. Miserable, cold (again, for us) rain. The rain has let up and it actually feels nice. I would guess its between 60 and 70 degrees. The nights have been around 70-80 for the last few months. In the summer the nights often don't fall below 80-90 degrees. Anyway, I'm rambling. The grass is wet.
The first part of our walk is on the side walk, and then we get to this dog area. Its one of those grassy sinkholes designed to catch runoff, so the grass is really, really wet. What I don't see but Lutzi does, is a woman walking her Boston terrier. We are just on the edge of where the ground slopes down when Lutzi lunges.
Yes, I lost my footing and fell, and then got dragged at least five feet so he could do all the important nose sniffing. I'm going to have to admit to not knowing my dog as well as I thought I did. I thought he was dog aggressive. Turns out to not be the case. Interesting, because his body language screams that he is about to attack. So much so he unnerves other dogs. He's not.
But, I'm still on the ground, holding onto his leash for dear life and I can't steady myself enough to get up while he's pulling me because the grass is wet. How dumb am I people? Seriously.
The owner of the Boston must have thought I was nuts because the whole strikes me as fucking hilarious and I start laughing hysterically. I am a day away from surgery and just got taken down by dog and dragged through the mud. I'm sorry, but that's funny as hell.
I'm not going to be getting up any time soon as long as the Boston and Lutzi are having a love fest. The Boston is a little uncertain due to Lutzi's size and enthusiasm, so he sniffs and backs away, sniffs and backs away. Every time he backs away, I get dragged downhill a little farther. I kinda wish I had a video of this.
The woman is really, really worried I've been hurt, which I haven't, and suggests we trade dogs. Um, what? How is this going to solve anything? The best we'll accomplish is to get the leads hopelessly tangled because trading dogs means the Boston has to get closer to me, me who is attached and sliding with Lutzi. Lutzi wants to play with the Boston and he's likely to get his way because at the moment, he had the upper hand.
I say, um, no could you just...
She picks up her dog and hurries off. Now Lutzi decides to check on me. Yeah, dog, thanks for your concern.
I don't particularly want him dragging me downhill, but this was a nice bit of levity in an otherwise tense week for me. I've not slept very well for the last few nights. This experience has made me decide its time to teach Lutzi some basic manners. I won't get him anywhere near as good as his mother, because I lack the inclination as does Lutzi. But heel, sit, down, stay. Those are all about to be a part of his life. Just as soon as I recover.
I hadn't meant to post again this week, but this was just too funny not to share. I'll check back in after the surgery and let you all know how it went.