November 26, 2012
The Jackass Whisperer
Everyone’s a ‘whisperer’ lately. If you’re good with babies, you’re a baby whisperer. Dog lovers want to be dog whisperers. It was suggested to me recently that I am a jackass whisperer, and I’m extremely fond of the term.
So, it’s been a busy week. Last weekend we camped out with the Boy Scouts in Florida, which required a wardrobe change into Princess with a Penis. All my friends were polished up in their fine Holiday attire for a fundraiser gala, and I was in a tent with a large pack of boys, all of whom smelled like goats asses. I had dirty nails and a smoky ponytail, but my darlings were happy. It was 40ish during the night and I totally hate the cold, but I zipped two sleeping bags together, and all four of us slept side by side with hats on. We were toasty and happy, although it wasn’t my best night of sleep. I sort of felt like a spy…being a chick at a Boy Scout camp out and all. The men were on to me though, so they remained on their best behavior and sadly I can’t even really make fun of them.
Then, a last minute slumber party was thrown together Wednesday night at my 93 year old grandmother’s house, since she hosts Thanksgiving every year. My laundry was still dangling from the ceiling fans when I had to quickly start packing bags. It was one of those ‘pick out what you’re going to wear tomorrow and pack everyone in five minutes’ deals. We left quickly and I (gasp) left dishes in my sink. I had cooked my own Thanksgiving Feast that day and we’d eaten it for dinner, and then bolted out of the house.
Sometime during Thanksgiving Day we decided to meet family in Mississippi the next day. We returned home fat and lazy to dirty dishes, clothes and bags askew, and had to start unpacking then packing again. I felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head at the disaster that was my house. I wanted to vomit at the number of people who had snuck out into their yards on Thanksgiving night and magically put all their Christmas decorations up. Are you fricking kidding me people? I haven’t wiped my counters in three days and I can’t even close the door to my laundry room.
In Mississippi we met Pal, a three year old white poodle whose elderly owner was recently admitted into a nursing home. Pal went straight up to my kids, sat down next to them, and was just really nice. “Oh, wook at dis cute puppy, Mommy. He wikes me,” the baby was saying. “Oh wow, this is just what I was going to look for at the pound. He doesn’t shed, he’s a nice size and he seems really ni….” And in about the next four nanoseconds, Pal’s bed and food were being loaded up into my car, because I’m the Jackass Whisperer.
I must say, I do like Pal. I’m not fond of these pussy poodle haircuts, so we’re going to let Pal grow out to enhance his level of coolness. Then I’m going to teach him to make a vodka tonic and smoke cigarettes. What I like most about him is that he gets outta my way. When he sees me cleaning, sweeping, doing my thing….he knows this bitch is in a hella hurry and he scoots his li’l behind right away before we collide. A lot of dogs follow me in the kitchen, and they don’t move when I’m coming fast. It’s terribly annoying to constantly collide with non-humans.
He slept with big darling the first night, and is in bed with the two littles right now. He ate a turkey leg in the yard today (no, it wasn’t the one from my sink, weirdos.) He peed on everything he could outside, hasn’t barked once, and is appreciating all the little hands petting his head. At bedtime, all the darlings were ‘thankful for Pal’ during prayers.
So there, you weird dog blockers, who said I couldn’t have a dog because I have little kids and no fence and didn’t meet your special dog whisperer requirements. I got one anyway. Cause I’m the jackass whisperer. That’s right....how ya like me nah?
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