My puppy is regressing in behavior and lashing out. The interesting thing about this is that he is snarling at the family members and, oddly enough ,he is wagging his tail at strangers.
The mailman who never rings once at our home, but merely drops packages at the end of the street and has neighbors sign for our registered mail, came to our door and Charly-dog extended his paw in a greeting. After the door closed he turned to me and raised his upper lip to bare a canine tip, and barked as he leapt towards my chest. I usually don’t show fear at rude and bad behavior (just ask my children), and back down from a confrontation, but I was baffled at my dog’s new(?) mannerism. My voice commands just filtered through dead air and my physical directives where met with nips and growls. I was so confused and angered at what to do that I did what any normal menopausal woman would do when faced with adversity and hormonal assent; I mixed my self a mojito.
Albeit, not ever having a Mojito molded my anger a little off target. I first had to google a recipe and then check to see if I had all the ingredients. Oh, yeah…Rum and club soda and mint.
I gathered all the makings for the Mojito to purge my menopause outburst and set me on a smooth sailing river of doggie obedience. Making this cocktail calls for one to use an Apothecary Mortar and Pestle to mash your Mint unconscious. I know this is hard to believe, but I don’t own a Mortar nor a pestle: I had to improvise and use substitution tools that were right at hand, or foot…… a dog dish and a calcified dog bone. Not really, I would never bend over to a level of apparatus beneath mankind and besides I think Charly-dog doesn’t like a hint of creme de minth in his Science bites.
I did manage to find a reputable instrument to make my mint match the Mojito mint in a recipe from Wine Magazine. I smashed those leaves into oblivion and back again all the while envisioning my puppy in the bowl. I added the mint,the Ice, club soda, and a hint of a new secret ingredient that is not yet privy to the most decadent Bars in Manhattan. Menopausal puppy anger.
I am sure there are variances in degrees in the amount of kinetic energy dispersed per bartender while mincing their mint, but no one can compare to a 50 something woman amidst the change of life who has had her last stance with a gnarling dawg. I massacred that mint into green noise… Then I finished the mixture and stared at it in wonder-mint.
I watched as the tiny particles of leaves mingled with the bubbles from the soda and swirled about until they fell to the floor of the glass. They looked as though they were enjoying their own spotlight on dancing with the stars. I wondered if the Rum felt left out. Well it did, because I forgot to add it in.
I thought by entertaining myself with the task of mixing this drink it could possibly distract me from my possessed puppy, but no, Charly was on a mission from dog hell and determined to destruct my Zen moment. He was determined to win and I was determined not to let him. I cradled my Mojito and receded to the couch to coil up in fetal position turning to the T.V. to possibly capture a re-run of the Golden Girls.
My dog would not let that happen, he followed me and jumped up on me to continue his one sided battle. Consequently at the same time, Cesar Milan happen to pop up on high-def wielding a wild doggie resembling my puppy. I watched intently while pushing my pup away from view, and I looked up at the screen and witnessed Mr. Whisperer himself taking a newspaper to a couples pup. He stated that “it was O.K. to use it like an extension of your hand”. Well, I just got Carte Blanche from the Dog whisperer to swat my dog with the NY Times. Hallelujah.
I got up from the couch and left my Mojito melting on the coffee table to wallow in it’s mint. My puppy chose this opportune time to run after me and nip at my shirt and bark at my hands. My commands were fruitless towards him and his responses were negative. I had no other recourse but to resort to the newspaper technique I attested to onscreen.
To grab what ever source of reading media is handy is not a good idea when disciplining a dog. I nearly destroyed Princess Diana in her wedding dress while brandishing my January 1982 collectible edition of Life Magazine on my dog’s heinie. My dog did not even blink a cows eye, probably due to the fascination of the young Ingenue in her over blown dress and sparkly tiara.
I should have grabbed the the ’73 Life Special Report featuring Nixon and Bebe Rebozo boating in Biscayne Bay. Yeah, that might have calmed Charly’s Mojo. Although his Mojo is no match for my Mojito….