On Saturday my sister dropped her dog off at my house. The dog is to remain here for a week and a half. A week and a half.
Now people, I live in what is technically a studio apartment in Toronto. It has lots of space and would be a one bedroom if the bedroom had a wall (and maybe a door). Point being, I cannot close the bed and get away from what is in my apartment with me. I have to share and I don't always like to share.
Being as they had just taken care of the Beast for two weeks while I was in Newfoundland I could hardly say no. In fact, I tried to say no but it didn't fly.
This dog, she is lovely but we don't always see eye to eye. You may remember her wreaking havoc one weekend (which you can read about here) and our relationship never really recovered.
Now I am stuck with her, in a small space, shared by the Beast and the Newf (who is really a cat guy).
This dog, better known as Dumpster Dog, was literally found in a dumpster (I'm not that mean - and my sister reads this, I think). The poor thing was only three weeks old and howling as loud as her little basset hound vocal chords would let her.
Here she is as a cute little thing:
Dumpster Dog (just over four weeks old) and my sister
Now she has grown into her female figure and seems to have the beast under a spell. He just cannot get enough.
The same pair, in the same position. Dumpster Dog still rules (my sister's iron fist).
Some things to know about Dumpster Dog:
- She is not well trained. Basset hounds are notorious for following their nose (and their stomach) and this one is no different.
- She is always happy. You'll note in the above picture her tail is wagging. It never stops. How do you stay mad at a creature that is always happy?
- She is under the rule of my sister. While Hilary (think a mix of Clinton and the girl on The Fresh Prince of Bel Air) fancies herself tough as nails she is a big ol'softie. Hillary does not rule the house, Dumpster Dog rules the house.
- She is a rescue pup. As I mentioned this dog had a rough start. She and her siblings were dumped in a garbage can and left for dead before they even had spots. Two of the four pups died. Dumpster Dog survived and is understandably scarred as a result.
Well, we have had the pup for four days now. Better known as "Dumpster Dog's Bootcamp" we have been butting heads the entire time.
See, at my house I really don't care how cute you are, I still expect you to pee in the proper receptacle. At this point I cannot walk both the Beast (120 pounds of excitement) and Dumpster Dog (nose to the ground and looking for squirrels) at the same time. I tried, the reactions received were somewhere between rolling laughter and disgust (so is Toronto).
It hasn't helped that I have been battling a nasty head cold.
For the first three days my face leaked from every hole available.
For the first three days Dumpster Dog leaked on my floor every chance she got.
I guess we do have something in common.
Miss Dumpster is whining at the door as we speak. I best not wait. More to come in the Dumpster Dog Chronicles.
Simply leaky (and sick of fluids),