Freak on a Leash

We’ve got ants again, and while for normal people, ants wouldn’t be enough to elicit the unreasonable levels of panic, wonder and bald-faced terror we’re currently experiencing, it’s important to remember that this time last year, we were plagued with our first ant invasion. I don’t want to live through that again, because GAH, they were everywhere, and by everywhere, I mean they were in my pants (MY PANTS) and in my bed (MY BED). And one morning, I actually woke up with two ants crusted in my hair (MY HAIR). In fact, just thinking about any sort of ants in my house is enough to cement me to the spot in which I happen to be standing, frozen in terror, save for a few wild motions with my hands to scratch my head because my God, there could be ants in there, history has proven it.

I found them swarming on a stray piece of dog kibble left underneath Sunny’s feeding station like it was the only piece of kibble for miles. One piece of kibble – ONE – and suddenly we’re living an episode of canine Fear Factor, and I’d like to turn in her life vest and turn down the challenge on her behalf because we do not eat bugs in this house, how many times do I have to say it?

Speaking of hair, I neglected to mention that we left the dog with a new camp counselor this weekend, as her last one decided she could no longer tolerate her advances towards her precious little Maltese, and to that I say whatever, you wimpy little purse dog. So she spent the weekend at the home of another woman, which was awesome, as Sunny loves her and she loves Sunny and roses, sunshine and blah doggity blah, yay, camp!

Not that it’s ever come up, but I am staunchly against feeding people food to the dog, especially when people food eaters, aka people (uh, wow), are eating, because there is nothing – nothing- worse than trying to shove down a bite of steak in front of sad, roving eyes or worse, grabby little paws grabbing all they can, including that last bit of mashed potato you were dying to finish. Because, you know, everything counts in large amounts, especially mashed potatoes. I might add that this belief was solidified by the fact that I failed to follow this rule with our cat, and as a result, ended up with him actually trying to steal food from my lips on multiple tuna-laden occasions. And also, there was that one really fun time that he stole a tomato saucy chicken finger out of the garbage and brought it into bed with me. I’ve learned my lesson.

So Anna. Anna the camp counselor! Anna is Mexican, and has a pretty strong accent that can be tough to understand sometimes, particularly when crackled over a mobile phone line, but even so, when I called to inquire about the well-being of our little darling, I swear Anna said, “And she loves my corn empanadas! Loves them!”

CORN EMPANADAS. PEOPLE FOOD, likely given while people are eating dinner. When I protested, I sensed some backpedaling and “I kid! HA!” and she didn’t repeat it and instead tried to distract me with some kind of wildly cute talk that involved Sunny and her six-month old daughter and I foolishly didn’t pursue the empanada discussion because Sunny and babies and googly oogly cuteness! Puppies! Babies! Ooh!

Fast forward to this morning, 6 a.m. (Because the pets don’t understand daylight savings time, the little fuckers, and there was screaming for breakfast beginning at 5, so help me God). First of all, what’s with all the neighborhood activity? There were at least 10 people out and about and being active, including an entire family of five in their front yard who was busy putting up Halloween decorations at 6 a.m., including a tombstone-like thing that talks in some sort of ominous voice, while skinny skeletal legs wiggle around and the theme from The Addams Family plays at a decibel level completely unsuitable for 6 a.m.

And it went off at precisely the moment when Sunny was pooping and it scared the shit out of both of us, and when Sunny gets scared while she’s pooping? Shit goes down. Or up, rather, because she kicks her legs like a bull getting ready to charge the red cape while she looks about nervously, and the debris goes flying everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. And today that debris included grass and poop, which took a detour past my hair and landed in the crook of my arm, which also included corn, which meant that there were totally empanadas consumed on Anna’s watch. Thanks a bunch, Anna! My dinners will never be the same!

Also, this is not the first time poop has gone flying into my hair and body when she kicks like that. It happens about once every week, almost always in the mornings when I am too slow to catch on, and why God, why? And do any dog owners know how to stop the kicking?

*Korn. And here’s where I reveal how immature and small I actually am, because while I realize that poop humor is the lowest form of amusement, there are times when I just can’t help myself. One of the greatest moments in my friendship with my friend Erica was when we were discussing bad band names over IM, and one of us typed ‘Korn’ and instantly we were horrified, because you CANNOT think of Korn without thinking of corn poop, and we both knew it. KORN POOP.

21 comments October 30th, 2006