I got mad at my puppy last night. I mean seeing red mad. I was on the phone with my cell company handling an extremely large bill which they claim I produced. I have never gone over my minutes in the entire ten years I’ve been with this company. I have a steady plan that I will never change and will never be offered again in my lifetime nor my dog’s lifetime. I tried to change the plan when I moved cross country, but even the competitors convinced me to stay put. Now, that’s a good plan. I was in a heated discussion with operator 1550, not about the overage, but she spent the first ten minutes on my name. No, she was not learning disabled, she liked my full first name, (which I rarely use; for legal purposes only). She went off on a tale of” her grandmother with the same name and her third cousin twice removed wanted the name and got it”. I listened intently and gave my bored response in between brushing my puppy away from the phone jack. It took her another fifteen minutes to try to convince me to change my plan to something better, and another fifteen minute dissertation on the “wonderful way my children are sticking to their minutes and not going over”. Here puppy puppy, chew the phone cord, now let’s play disconnect… good puppy. Instead of severing my line with the Mobile company my dog decided to pull the paper shredder cord and spill the remnants of home made confetti all over the carpet. I yelled THAT’S BAD!, into the receiver and the agent responded by stating : “T-Mobile does have alternate plans we can offer if I’m not happy with the present one”. GET OUT ! I yelled. The agent replied with a ” Yep, you go girl.. we have many to choose from…”. GET DOWN! GET OVER HERE! ” Well I can call my supervisor and see if there are better offers in the future, but I’m not allowed to leave my cubicle”. BAD BOY, LEAVE! “Well really, that’s no way to address me, I’m a girl, and a simple good-bye would suffice”. SIT! click.
It is not easy owning a puppy and trying to conduct business. After countless minutes of chasing him in circles I gave up. I was afraid of how I would respond to him after I caught him. I was seeing red earlier but now my eyes were glowing crimson. I sat on the floor in the foyer staring. Staring like a patient in a psych ward after having a dose of Thorazine. I watched my puppy run wild around the house and around me completely out of control, snapping, tail wagging, jumping, and dodging around corners. I just sat there helplessly watching because this little sausage shaped mongrel had me beat. If I had a towel I’d a thrown it in, but he would have liked that. He would have grabbed it and run off to a corner to devour it. I felt like crying. I always had control of everything I do. I raised children without breaking down into tears. I have suffered job losses, break-ups, incredible pain, and death of loved ones. In under one year I moved cross country, gave birth to my son, re enrolled in college to finish my undergrad, and lost my father to cancer. I did not stop fighting or give up on anything I was doing. I raised an incredible son, I made Deans list in college, and I did it it without breaking into tears. But my puppy has me on the foyer floor whimpering worse than his first two nights of stay with us. I decided to lay out flat on the Ethan Allen throw rug , arms and legs extended, and gazing upward at the ceiling. I started to think about the dog, and , well, maybe I’m not equipped to handle the pup. Maybe I’m too old to do this now. These are my golden years, not my golden retriever years. I should be retiring on the Amalfi Coast sipping a glass of wine from an unmarked bottle of Chianti accompanied by a freshly made Bruschetta. I should be sitting staring out to the sea smelling the aroma of Italy and listening to the banter of the locals; not the barking of a lunatic pup. I think I made a mistake and I think I am not a good puppy owner. I think I need to return the dog. I think I’ll lay here in the foyer and think some more. I think I need to admit my failure as a puppy owner. I think I’ll lay here until he runs out of steam. My eyes are closed and I’m drifting off to that place where the waiters wear black and white and speak Italian, and the aroma of Italian food has taken over my libido. I no longer own a dog, I can only hear Italian and smell eggplant parmagana while the ships are pulling in and out of the harbor. I am there, I am free , I can feel the ocean spray and the cool mist on my face. I can feel…………………………………………………..
My puppy’s wet tongue licking my eyelid and his cold nose investigating my ear. He rolls up into a ball next to me and falls asleep with his head extended across my neck. I can feel his heart beating and the warmth of his body. I can feel his love.
Ciao! Charly! Di cui una buona doggie? Pronto per alcuni Puppy Chow? BENE..