Wednesday, August 11, 2004

Dogsitting

I slept with Marmaduke last night. Jasmine is driving to Dallas after work to be in a wedding this Friday. She told me she didn’t want me to take off work to go with her because the sister of another broker in the office was also in the wedding and she didn’t want to risk it. Damn. And I was so looking forward to it.

Marmaduke’s a big girl and the clumsiest bitch I’ve ever seen in my life. Danety is just not an appropriate name for her. Apparently she is still a puppy by giant, clumsy dog standards. I had a few things left over from my weekend with Squat so I figured I could handle her. Last night was our first night together, me and the Duke. I gave her Squat’s pillow, but it was barely big enough for her head. Hmm. I tossed her two more pillows, but I could see the incredulous look in her eyes when one doggie eyebrow actually lifted in query.

“Fuck you, it ain’t happening.”

I don’t wear the pants. Not with her, not with Jasmine, not with Kadybug. I am merely a pawn to them. Someone to babysit, dogsit, and torment. Occasionally I get a pat on the head and a “good boy” and in my mind that makes it all worth while. Last night I’d been in bed all of ten minutes when I heard movement at the foot. First one paw, then another, then this once tornado with claws suddenly became more agile than a cat as she silently pulled herself onto the bed, one paw at a time and gently laid down beside me, resting her massive Marmaduke head on the pillow as if she belonged there.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Arrhhoooo.”

“Get down. Git! Go!”

Nada.

“Danety, down! Go get on your pillows.”

She sneezed, spraying dog snot all over my arm in the dark. “Eww!”

Fuck me. I put my hands against her rib cage and started pushing. She was on to me, though. At 120 some odd pounds she simply stood up and plopped right back down practically on top of me, wriggling as I pushed against her, a flurry of long bony legs and sharp toenails. “Get off of me! Get—ouch! Get your fucking feet out of my crotch. Dammit, would you—ouch! Son of a bitch!! Stop it!”

The two of us laid there panting in the dark for a moment while I tried to cook up another plan of action. That’s when she rolled over, her legs pointing the other way, her back to me. I rolled my eyes in defeat but decided it was easier letting her sleep on that side than to fight with her over it. That’s when it occurred to me. I was played. Fucking women.

Today we’re going to go catch the Frisbee. In the Bayou. Hope she can swim.