Doggy Style

I am totally, absolutely, totally, head over heels in love...with a dog.

Her name is Mimzy, and she is the boss of me.

About six weeks ago, David and I were talking about how we missed having a dog around the house. David spent hours flipping through webpages on Jack Russell Terrier adoption sites. One day, he sent me a picture of this little face staring up at me out of a red blanket. I was frickin' hooked. I ran into the studio, and I told David that this was our girl.

We took the train to Central Connecticut, and then we borrowed David's Dad's truck and drove to Boston on a rainy day when I had the flu in order to get our new girl, Mimzy.

It has been a love affair since then. Now, I know I am biased as a parent, but literally people stop us on the street because she is so damn cute. She has unusual markings for a JRT, and she is basically so laid back that sometimes I wonder if she's dead. She is generally ridiculously delicate and very inquisitive...actually at the moment she was sniffing the cacti in the window sill.

She is also smart as hell.

So she hates/loves the canned air bottles I have and use to clean my keyboard. But it's not just the cans she flips out about. If the can is sitting by itself on the shelf in her view, she is absolutely ok with it. She knows that the can isn't a threat unless I touch it. But let my hand stray near the can or touch it, and she loses her mind. And she does one of two things: She either snaps at my hand OR she grabs the can of air via the straw attached to the nozzle and drags it away from me. She does the same thing with the self-inking address stamp I have for work. As a matter of fact, yesterday, I looked over my desk and she was on the bookshelf. She grabbed the stamper, very softly, dragged it onto her sleeping pallet, and stood over it looking at me as if it dare me to try and touch it.

I got nipped in the man titty today for teasing her with the spray can. Mimzy ain't no joke.

In the last couple of weeks her personality has really come through. She is sweet and playful. She's a trickster, and she is a lover. And she has totally captured my heart and the heart of Michael Urie the dude that plays Mark on Ugly Betty. He hasn't more than nodded in my direction but when Mimzy enters the dog park, he is all about her royal cuteness.

Doggie Style

I have a step-son. He is ridiculously intelligent. Gorgeous. In great shape. At times, he is a big baby. At other times he is extremely playful and is a huge tease.

He also happens to be a ten year old Jack Russell Terrier.

Tildon aka The Boss of Us Humans...is a character and a half.

In the mornings, Tildon...the moment he hears David and I start talking either emerges from beneath the covers or from his bed at the foot of our bed. He leaps onto us, showing no care or concern where his paws land...and more than once they have been planted firmly in mine or David's man bits. He then starts a ritual where he attempts to lick every trace of salt from our skin and hands...becoming increasingly more excited and increasingly more insistent as he nudges and prods and moves our body parts into positions best suited for salinity reduction.

Once we tire of his insistent tongue and order him to stop licking, the mind games begin. He will stop...pretending to look over or through us...and with his eyes firmly planted on ours will slowly lower his head and extend his tongue...thinking that we can't see him. When we finally impress upon him that the tongue bath is, indeed, over, he goes crazy. He begins flipping and flopping on the bed...rubbing his crazy into the bed sheets, twisting his body at odd angles, and throwing fine white hairs into the air.

Then he starts to talk.

This dog almost never barks. But he talks. His range of vocal utterings is extremely impressive. He talks only when he feels it is time for him to go outside, and I promise you, his internal clock is attuned to the Atomic Clock. At 9am, 12pm, 6pm, and 10pm...the dog starts by approaching the human most likely to succumb to his cuteness and acceed to his demands to go outside. Usually, that is me. I haven't yet built up enough spiritual armor to resist his liquid brown eyes. If his Jedi mind tricks don't work. He scoots closer to you...hoping that proximity will increase his efficaciousness. Then...if that doesn't work...up he comes...one paw on your leg.

At that point I usually buckle.

Once you stand up, all bets are off. All of a sudden it's “Go Go Gadget Tildon,” and the dog is bouncing three or four feet in the air and talking. It is clear that he is giving exact instructions as to how and what and when and where I should be going and doing. If you still resist, he gives you a scathing lecture in Doggonit (the language of the Canine Nation).

Once outside, if he is with me, he is generally obedient. But, I am convinced he believes he is walking me. He prances on his toes and every few feet looks up to make sure I am doing what I am supposed to be doing and not cruising some other dog or wandering off to sniff at random guys butts. He waits patiently while I pick up his poop, and he leads me to the nearest trash can so that I can dipose of it.

The dog is so the boss of me.

But the creepiest and most wonderful thing in the world is when David or I come home after being gone for a couple of hours. The dog actually smiles. Dog's are carnivores...their teeth are sharp. It would be as if Dracula saw you, dropped the fangs down, and let loose with a toothy grin. Not the most comforting sight in the world. But it is full of pure doggie love.

At night, as we go to sleep, Tildon nudges the covers and crawls beneath them. He generally wedges himself between David and me. One of us is honored by having his head wedged under his back...while the other gets Tildon's pointy claws diggin' into some fleshy part of our abdomen.

He's a good dog.