It was a dark and stormy night, the wind whipping leaves around my ankles. I ran out of the house, hopped down the front porch steps and with the grace of a dancer, skimmed over a puddle while I remote-opened the car door. Closing my cardigan snuggly around my neck, I turned back towards my house and called…
“Nudgee, come on. Mommy’s got the door open.”
This is my life. If I’m not catering to my husband or one of my kids, I’m catering to a 10 pound Shit-zuh. And I blame the dog for making me do this. She waits on the porch, silently willing me to open the door so she does not have to wait in the rain one second longer than necessary. When I’ve gotten the door open sufficiently enough for her to hop in the back seat, she scurries down the steps and jumps in the back seat, where she assumes her spot on the passenger side, foot on the arm rest, nose against the glass. Woe to the person who sits in her spot.
We’re going to pick up my dad at the car dealership. He’s having car issues, which in itself is a whole other blog topic, but in any case we’re going to pick him up. We’re the good daughter and dog-daughter and off we go, down the road. Me and Nudgee. She in the back seat like an heiress and me driving her along.
We hit the side street and I slow down at the rancher on her side so she can look at the cats. I know she sees them because she gives a little snort. I smile like a child who’s just gotten her parent’s approval and we move on.
We have somehow synchronized our arrival so that my dad is literally on my bumper as we pull into the dealership. Nudgee and I pull up far enough for him to get his truck in and then we wait as he dumps the keys into the slot and starts towards the car.
“Do you see Grandpa, Nudgee? Look,” I point, “there he is.”
Nudgee wags her tail against the leather seat. Thump, thump. She is pleased. I’ve accomplished much this evening.
My dad gets in and greets the damn dog before he says hi to me. Nudgee jumps on him and I try to get her back to her seat, but she’s having none of it and she ends up mostly on him, but partly on the gearshift, and once she managed to get the car into neutral. But it’s all okay, so long as Nudgee is comfortable.
We deliver my dad to his house and we chat in the driveway (the same driveway that murdered my cell phone) and he asks Nudgee if she wants to go outside and get all wet. Nudgee lowers her fuzzy Shit-zuh brows and goes back to her seat by the window. Nudgee is offended. Clearly Grandpa isn’t trained as well as Mommy. Grandpa need remediation.
With the first objective of our journey complete with my dad safely behind the descending garage door, we head to McDonalds for a treat. Nudgee patiently waits; she’s moved to the front seat now. I turn on the heated seat for her, low of course, can’t get a burned paw.
I order a cheeseburger and again comes the thump thump of her tail on the seat back. I smile again cause I’m a rock star in this little creature’s eyes. The bag gets passed through the window and Nudgee noses it. It’s her subtle reminder that I need to check the contents to make sure her order is right. With confirmation that there is in fact one cheeseburger, plain, in the bag, we can begin the journey home.
At home, there’s a tense moment when Nudgee finds out that she must share the cheeseburger with her doggie roommates (she’ll debate me on that), but I stand firm and get my way by distracting her with her one-third of the cheeseburger. Soon everything is forgotten and everyone has a bit of cheeseburger in their tummy and the slow process of digestion can begin. Nudgee curls up on the couch pillow, in her usual spot and give me her belly to rub. It helps with the digestion, she’s willed me to believe. All is good and soon, she’s asleep, softly snoring and having delightful doggie dreams.
Such is a weeknight with a Shit-zuh. And boy is it fun!
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