It’s 3:30 AM. It’s raining. I’m standing in the grass. All thanks to the peanut-sized bladder of a four-pound fur ball named Winston.
Winston is a shitzsu that my wife Julie and I have been entrusted with for four days while Winston’s mother (not biological) Lauren is out of town. Lauren is a friend of Julie’s and last week the three of us were having lunch when Lauren mentioned her upcoming trip and her concerns about leaving Winston behind.
“Can’t you just put him in a kennel?” I asked.
The matching look of horror on Lauren’s and Julie’s faces said the same thing, mainly, “you have fewer brain cells than a spoon” and “What were you thinking?!?” Clearly, I wasn’t. Moreover, the fact that I would even suggest such a thing proves that not only am I “below Spoon level” in the IQ department — I’m not even in the same class as plastic cutlery. It’s true; right at this very moment, in middle school lunchrooms across the country, plastic sporks are all thinking the same thing: “Geez. Even we know that Winston couldn’t be put in a kennel!”
While Julie gave me several legitimate reasons why a kennel was a bad idea — mostly due to the small bathrooms and impossible closet space — it was Lauren’s argument that really got me thinking; probably because it was so scientifically based. In her words: “Winston wouldn’t like it.”
Apparently Winston was recently visited by the Gallop folks (Doggie Division), as part of their nationwide study to determine what’s really going on in dog’s brains. You’ll be pleased to know that after several months of intensive research, which included detailed analyses of 3.3 million dogs and a collective intake of approximately 9,522 pounds of Kibble, scientists can now state, conclusively, that the number one concern of every dog in the country is:
“Oooh, a butt! I’ll sniff it!”
(NOTE: The number two concern is “Ooooh, a butt! Do I sniff it or hump it?,” but that only applies to male and/or gender-confused canines.)
So there you have it. Scientific research, solidly grounded in the fact that I just made it up, and yet, there’s not a single piece of evidence to insinuate that Winston wouldn’t like a kennel. But as a wise man once said (I think his name was Todd): “research is research but real life is coated in lingonberry sauce.” I have no idea what that means, but I do know that it wasn’t until after Winston arrived that I began to understand why he couldn’t stay in a kennel.
Turns out that Winston is clingy. Now I don’t mean “he likes to be in the same room as you” clingy; I’m talking SERIOUS static cling, here. Think of those Garfield dolls that people have suctioned to their car windows. Now substitute the car window for something on your body, like your leg or arm or face. That’s Winston.
Luckily, Lauren wrote down a few pointers to help us better understand Winston’s needs. Here’s an excerpt from Section H, subsection XV, paragraph 12.
1. Winston’s likes: Walking with you, snuggling with you on the couch, sleeping on your pillow.
2. Winston’s dislikes: Being more than 3 inches away from you.
It’s actually not as demanding as it sounds. In fact, there are advantages to Winston’s clinginess. For example, when you’re sitting on the couch, with your wife on one side and a clingy dog on the other, there’s always someone to blame for those sudden bursts of strange aromas (“Oh, c’mon, Winston!”).
But there are drawbacks, too. Like the way Winston's decided that our bed is now his bed, a conclusion he apparently came to when I scooped him off the floor, placed him on the bed, and tucked him under the covers. Really, I don’t know where dogs pick up these things. So yes, Winston’s been sleeping with us which, as any good Clinging Expert will tell you, means that between the search to find a comfortable position and the constant begging (“Winston, willya get off my pillow?”), I’m sleeping about 27 minutes a night.
Another drawback is happening RIGHT NOW as I stand in the rain, waiting for Winston to go to the bathroom. This process would go more smoothly say, if Winston would stop clutching my leg and instead, find an acceptable patch of grass to do his business — something I try to encourage by enthusiastically saying things like, “Look at that grass over there! Wouldn’t you like to pee on that?” and “C’mon Winston, let’s go pee over there!” I repeat these things several times before I realize I sound like an idiot.
Three more minutes have passed and Winston still won’t leave my side. Meanwhile, the plastic sporks of the world are sleeping soundly.
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