Wednesday, April 13, 2011

My Furry Boys Have a Falling Out

Choosing Sides and Getting the Stink Eye
© 2011 Leighann Lord

My Husband and my Dog aren't speaking because my Dog ate my Husband’s watch. The Dog is okay but I’m not sure about my Husband.

Listen to this post on PODBEAN
Subscribe FREE on ITUNES

Our Dog was busily chewing something that neither of us had given him. My Husband took a closer look and saw his watch, or what was left of it, between the Dog’s paws. He said, “Baby, come look at this.” I think he was hoping that he was mistaken. That when I looked between my Dog’s paws there would be nothing there but an old bone. But no, my Dog was clearly keeping time.

My Husband said in a dangerously quiet voice, “He ate my watch.”

I think what bothered him most was my Dog’s casual attitude. His Lordship didn’t act like a bad dog caught in the act of wrongdoing. No, he was lounging in the hallway, watch remnants in betwixt his two front paws, licking his chops like he’d just eaten a piece of steak. And in a way he had since the watchband was leather. The look on his furry little face seemed to say, “Oh, my bad. Did you want some of this?”

“Baby?” I said, grasping the potential seriousness of the situation. “Did he eat the buckle? Oh my god! What if ate the buckle?” I had visions of the tiny metal pieces making their way through my Dog’s innards, doing damage. I tried to remember where the nearest dog hospital was, and wondered how much doggie surgery would cost without insurance.

My Husband went to his dresser top where he normally kept the watch, deducing that it may have simply fallen onto the floor and into Rolie’s purview. There on the rug he found the buckle and prong that my Dog had discarded like empty artichoke leaves. The watch face, also uneaten, was apparently just an after-dinner trophy.
I was still worried. Was long dead cow, though ardently chewed, still digestible? We called the Vet and were told we were lucky the strap wasn’t plastic. If it had been, the Dog would have to get his stomach pumped. We were instructed to keep an eye on him, a pumping still in the offing if he was constipated.

So for the next few days we were on poop patrol. Looking closely at his leavings to see if any bits of band turned up. Luckily, our Rolie was his regular and prolific self. In fact I sometimes worry that what we feed him somehow magically multiplies in his colon. How else could a 35-pound-ish cocker spaniel manage to seemingly shit twice his own body weight on a daily basis?

Major canine crisis averted, I had time to worry about how my Furry Guys were getting along, or more accurately how they weren’t. My Husband, though worried about Rolie, was also still miffed about the watch. It was as if he had broken some secret Man-Dog code:

Don’t pee in the house.

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

And, good grief, don’t eat your owner’s favorite watch.

fter the incident my Husband said things like:

“Hey Boy, want a snack? How about a watch?”
“You enjoying your dinner? Would you like some watch with that?”
“What time is it? Oh, I don’t know, let me ask my Dog.”

Yeah, it was uncomfortable.

Once, when I was giving Rolie one of his mandatory tummy rubs, I caught my Husband looking at me as if I had betrayed him. I said, “Hey don’t give ‘me’ the stink eye. I didn’t eat your watch.”

But men have a thing about watches. He will deny this, but I believe my Husband has more watches than I have pairs of shoes. Whenever he shows me a new watch, I swear it looks exactly like one he already has. He’ll point out some minute difference that I just don’t have enough testosterone to appreciate. I smile and nod realizing that this must be what it feels like when I show him a new handbag.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel bad that my Husband lost a good watch. I might be just as angry if His Lordship had scarfed down one of my cherished possessions. If the title of this post had been, “My Dog Ate My BlackBerry” then the subsequent storyline might have been about the dog I used to have.

But dogs, like children, get into mischief. They do things and eat stuff they’re not supposed to, but the watch took us by surprise. It seems like such a puppy thing to do and our Rolie is at least 12 years old. His watch eating ways should’ve been way behind him. On the other hand, maybe our Little Old Man was having a mid-life crisis and was trying to recapture his youth with a nostalgic nosh. That happens to the best of us. As you get older there are lots of things you shouldn’t eat anymore, but you try and you usually regret it.

We were all hands on dog when the Little Guy started throwing up pieces of watchband. My Husband’s anger completely evaporated. He reacted in Super Doggie Daddy fashion, damn near pushing me out of the way to tend to His Lordship. Humph, I guess all is forgiven. The Dog threw up thrice, fewer and fewer pieces of band each time, at last getting all of it out of his system.

I really hope this is the last time watchband is on the menu. I don’t think I could take another round of door slamming, foot stomping, grumbling, growling and eye rolling. Things are much better when my Furry Boys are best buds. Now they can go back to covertly eating the things they’re normally not supposed to have: sausages, hot dogs, ice cream. Oh, but that's a "guy thing" so I’m not supposed to know about that.

Join The Urban Erma on Facebook or follow on Twitter. You can listen to the podcast on Podbean or subscribe on iTunes. Leighann Lord is a stand-up comedian, who's style is best described as "Thinking Cap Comedy." If comedy were music, she'd be Jazz. Check out her upcoming shows @ Join her on FaceBook. Follow her on Twitter.

No comments: