Monday, March 06, 2006

Dogs, Kneecaps and Russian Vodka

A welcome warm sun shines upon my back as I throw a stick in the snowy yard for my son's two Black Labrador Retrievers, Jezzebel and Duke. Jez and Duke are orphans under my care. Jez is a smart, young female of small stature with a mischevious dispositon. In contrast, Duke, her mate, is an ox of a dog with nothing but two testosterom balls operating as much between his ears as well as between his gangly legs on. Standing in the afternoon sun I pick up the slobber encrusted stick and prepare to make another throw while conemplating the wisdom of my decision to temporarily adopt these two hounds. Their owners, Jeremiah and his wife Courtnie, were recently whisked off to Anchorage so that Courtnie could give birth to Koa, my grandson. Koa's early arrival means an extended stay in Anchorage for Jeremiah and Courtnie and this impromtu trip is the reason for my canine tribulations.

Jez and Duke spend the first few days of their visit pretty much confined to my garage. I think they would appreciate having an entire garage in which to lounge about all day while I labor earning their food money. Previously they had been confined to their kennels for much of the time and sympathy towards their confinement is what convinced me to take them into my home in. My garage is a typical Alaskan garage, not decked out in a Martha Stewart decor like so many lower 48 garages, so I "assume" they will be comfortable and unable to cause any real damage. This "assumption" like so many assumptions since, is proven a gross error.

Take day 1 of their visit for example. Returning from work I open the garage door expecting lavish doggie kisses in payment for my hospitality. Instead, both dogs almost knock me off my feet in their haste to exit the garage and go piss on my house's back door. "Hmm... Well at least they waited to get outside before they relieved themselves" I think as I enter the garage. My nostrils immediatly inform me this is not the case. Atop the roll of carpet awaiting installion into my living room lies an elephant sized pool of canine daireha, an obvious gift from Duke. Beside this half frozen pool of stench lies the chewed remains of my two new ice-fishing rods, a chunk of gnawed garden hose, several broken beer bottles as well as the remains of my favorite hammer. The garage looks like a bombed-out Shiite masque and smells a lot like the word "Shiite" sounds. So much for canine gratitued!



The next couple days go a little better. I keep the dogs kenneled up in the garage while I work. When I arrive home I release them from the confines and throw a stick for them until they expend enough of their pent up energy that I can allow them entry to the house without them knocking over the kitchen table. They gradually become civilized enough that my own ancient golden retriever feels it is once again safe to make occasional forays out from under the table when the two hooligans are present. Unfortunatly my cat, Spooky, is not as fortunate. She remains cloistered in an upstairs bedroom since Jez and Duke's arrival. Periodically Duke sneaks a peak at her by creeping up the stairs, but when he gets to about the third step from the top he freezes, stretching his neck ever closer towards the mysterious, hissing ball of fur guarding the top landing. After several minutes of stand-off, Duke inches one of his clod-hopper paws up to the second step. This proves too much for Spooky and she errupts into a snarling tornado of claws and teeth onto Marmaduke's slobbering snout. Duke wheels about and comes crashing down the seven steps behind him without laying foot on a one of them. He crashes into the front door shaking its very hinges. All this commotion of course arouses Jez and Scrub and the three of them stand at the bottom of the stairs barking and carrying on while Spooky glares at them from above. Canines may rule the lower netherlands of my house but a fiery feline holds sway over the more hearvenly regions!

Having enough of this gangland commotion in my living room I chase the dogs outside into their dog yard. The dog yard is surrounded by a 4 fence which is more than sufficent to confine old Scub. Heck, I can hardly coax Scrub to venture outside the yard anymore...He knows where his food bowl is and isn't about to let it out of his sight for more than a few minutes. I know the dog yard won't confine Duke and Jez for more than a few minutes but I need a little peace before I bring them back in. This is a mistake. By the time I open the door to let them in I discover the deliquents have already made their escape. I catch a glimpse of Duke streaking through the darkness like a black ghost while pretending to be deaf to my yelling. Repeated attempts to capture the hounds end in failure. I return to my house figuring they will soon return for their dinner. Jezz, always hungry since welping a litter of pups, returns a short time later. However, Duke, having other things on his mind, misses dinner. I retire to the warmth of bed and am drifing to faraway lands of sunshine and warm sands when I detect a scratching at the backdoor. I pull myself from the warm blankets I go to the door. Duke, comes watzing inside grinning from floppy ear to floppy ear. He is dripping with snow, ice, and God only knows what other watery substances and reeks of the pungent odor of bitch. I swear, he would have a cigar hanging from his lips and a half empty beer in his hand if he were human!

"Ahh...I'm sooo glad you had such a fine Friday night." I remenise as I set set his food bowl in front of him. "I remember when MY Friday nights were events to look forward to. Friday nights devoid of kids, jobs and dogs!"

The weekend is wasted in adding further fortifications to the dog yard. Home Depot supplies me with a role of bright orange plastic construction fencing which I use to extend the height of the existing red lattice fence that so adequately confines Scrub. It isn't too difficult to errect since I can attach it to the existing poles frozen into the ground surrounding the yard. Finishing the project I discover that I must crawl on hands and knees through the dog-door into my back porch in order to exit the yard. I walk to the front yard in order to observe how the new addition blends with the overall landscaping. Let's see. The house is a light blue with white paint peeling from its trim. Attached to one side of it is the original dog-fence constructed of redwood lattice. Now, attached on top of this fence is 4 feet of hunter orange plastic fencing. "If that doesn't give the ole homestead a truly Alaskan look nothing will"

Proud of my new landscaping, I release Jez and Duke into the new prison yard. Duke prances out oblivious to the new decor and proceeds to re-mark all his sign-posts, terminating his quest by laying huge steaming pile in the center of the yard. Jez notices the change immediately and contemplates the intracacies of the orange addition. I smuggly return inside and pop open a beer to celibrate my victory. The beer is about half empty when I notice a black shadow streaking down the street outside my window. " No...It can't be!." To my disbelief I see that the dogs have once again escaped.

After another doggie round-up I am once again on my way to Home Depot. ( I should be part owner of that corperation by now since all the employee's know me by name! ) I break down and shell out enough green bills for a roll of 8 ft chain link fencing and the bolt cutters to cut it with. Returning home I am faced with the task of lugging the several hundred pound roll of fencing through the rather small doggie door. Suffering only minor scratches and a moderate hernia in this effort, I take a step back to analyse how to best accomplish the errection of the new fencing. My boot immediatly slips from under me and I find myself lying in the snow beside the smooshed debis of one of Duke's more recent montainous deposits. "SHIT!" I scream, as if I have to explain to myself what the substance is into which I have just fallen.

Sunday morning arrives and the family trundles off towards church. Concern over my grandson, Koa, motivates most of the family to visit "God's house" this snowy morn. While I share this concern, I think my real motivation lies more in the desire to get away from the canine devils which now possess my my home. As I drive pass the front of the house I am greatly impressed with the artfull landscaping created by the 8 ft. tall wall of red, flourescent orange and chain-link gray, all tastefully accented by peeling white trim and an occasional rotting wooden pallet. "God, thank-you for all the material blessings you have so generously bestowed upon this undeserving soul!"

After having the sins excorcised from my soul I return home for a restful Sunday afternoon. As evening approaches I begin to feel repentent of evil thoughts pertaining to my canine companions so I take them outside for a session of stick throwing. We are enjoying a delightfull time when I notice a figure coming down the street. To my dismay I notice that the figure has a leash with a rat-sized ball of white fur skittering along on the other end. "Oh no! Not one of those little Fru-fru dogs. My God, Duke will skewer that thing like a hot dog at a weenie roast if its female!" Duke spies this approaching morsel a moment after I do and streaks towards the street. I sprint like a linebacker in an effort to cut-off his charge. At the goal line I leap into the air for the flying tackle. My hands find their target around Duke's neck but both my knee-caps also find the boulder hidden in my yard beneath a thin blanket of snow. The pain is electrifying, frying every nerve ending in my body. My mouth tastes of metal. My stomach cramps and dark shadows creep into the sides of my vision. Still I hold on. I am unable to stand so I crawl towards the door, dragging Duke behind. The man gives me sort of a disgusted smile and his runtly little fru-fru dog sniffs snottily at my homes fine landscaping. If I could get on my feet I would go over and kick both thier asses but as it is I must simply crawl into the house.

Tonight I find myself lying on the couch with both legs elevated on pillows. A glass of icy Russian Vodka sits by my side acting as a fair anelgesic for my mind if not for my knee-caps. I contemplate the purple golf-ball errupting from my left knee and compare it to the 2 inch gash oozing blood on my right one. Three dogs sleep blissfully on the floor, oblivious to my suffering. Jezz momentarily lifts her tail and the room once again fills with the aroma and cozy warmth of doggie bliss. I wonder for a moment how the evening is going for my son and grandson. My life is a cakewalk compared to their current situation...God, thank-you for all the blessings which you have bestowed upon my undeserving soul.....

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