On Our Way To Crazy

I called animal control on our neighbors today. It was not fun.

I don’t know a lot about animals. I have only had one pet in my life, and his name is Miles, and he sleeps in our bed and flops all over the sofa owns a football jersey and licks our faces and I would make him three meals a day from scratch if I could. I love that dog so much.

So I will freely admit that I don’t know a lot about what is normal or acceptable care for an animal. I don’t know if it’s considered mean or perfectly ok to have an outside dog. I would never do it, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

But I do know that leaving your dog tied to a tree with no food or water is wrong. Especially when there is no dog house and the rope isn’t long enough to let him get under any shelter when it is pouring down rain outside.

Y’all, I’ve been struggling with this for a while. The dog is outside all day every day, tied to that tree. I think they take him in at night, but I’m not sure about that. They definitely don’t take him in when they get home from work. I’ve never seen him tied to the tree at night, but I’ve never looked either. I just feel so bad for him. I know some of you live where it is -50 degrees outside nine months of the year. But it’s been pretty cold for Nashville over the last couple of weeks. When we let Miles out, instead of sniffing every corner of the yard and checking for rabbits under the shed, he gets his business done and books it for the porch. And all the while that poor little dog is just laying there in the cold with no shelter or food or water.

But today was the breaking point. It has been pouring down rain all day. When I let Miles out this morning that dog had the rope pulled taut, stretching as far as he could to try and get under their swingset. I couldn’t take it. So I called.

I don’t know if it was the right thing to do. We don’t know our neighbors, but they seem like fairly nice people. I don’t want them to have their dog taken away from them. But maybe animal control coming by will be what gets them to take better care of him. Or at least, for the love, buy the dog a house. How hard is that?

3:00 pm - leave work early because I can barely hold my head up

5:00 pm - go to sleep

9:00 pm - wake up, starving

9:30 pm - eat two egg rolls, because I’m sick and I can do what I want

10:00 pm - watch lame tv

12:00 am - go back to sleep

3:45 am - wake up in a start because Miles is convinced someone is in the house and has propelled himself off the bed barking his fool head off

3:46 am - lay flat on my face and try to catch my breath and get my heart rate down

3:48 am - Miles starts whining at the foot of the bed because he can’t get back up (he’s still on the DL)

3:48:30 am - Miles comes to the side of the bed and tries to jump up

3:48:31 am - Miles only gets half of his little body onto the bed and proceeds to fall off, hitting his head on the nightstand on the way down

3:49 am - completely out of it, I go to pick Miles up and put him on the bed

3:49:02 am - not realizing his head is under the bed, I knock his head on the bed frame

3:50 am - I decide to use the restroom, since I’m already awake

3:50:05 am - not realizing Miles has jumped down again and followed me into the bathroom, I push the door closed behind me and it smacks him in the face

3:52 am - I pick Miles up and put him on the bed, this time taking care not to give him a fourth head injury in less than ten minutes

4:00 am - Miles is sound asleep. I am wide awake, composing this entry in my head and wondering if Miles did in fact hear someone outside the door.

4:01 am - I turn over so that if they break in, I’ll be ready for them

I am just not meant to get a good night’s sleep this week. The last several nights have been full of things keeping me awake. My eyelids are drooping as I type this.

A couple of nights ago I woke up around 2am to the sound of Miles rummaging through my purse looking for food. He usually falls asleep at the end of the bed as soon as the sun goes down, so I’m not sure of the sequence of events. All I know is that he was sound asleep when I went to bed at midnight. He has been known to come upstairs with us when we go to bed, only to race back down when he thinks we’re not looking to look for snacks he thinks are down there – usually a glass with milk in the bottom left on the table or a pantry door that’s not closed all the way. Did he fake sleep with the intention of going after the purse when we were sleeping? Did he wake up, see the bag and get the munchies? I have no idea.

Earlier this week I woke up from a dream and couldn’t fall back asleep. In the dream, I’d been in a work meeting at a restaurant. During the meeting, someone stole my purse. When I realized it was gone I ran out into the parking lot to find my car gone. Somehow I knew the thieves had not only stolen my car but had gone to my house and taken my dog, my Kate Spade china and my white chocolate macadamia nut cookies I have to make special trip to Fresh Market to buy. Also known as my three most prized possessions. I didn’t have my phone to call Aaron, so I ran back into the restaurant to lodge a complaint with the manager. The guy at the hostess stand was really mean to me and said it was my own fault someone stole my bag. He was also Matt Dillon.

Tuesday night I couldn’t fall asleep because I was too worked up with grief and indignation over the Mavs. Tears may have been shed.

But I think the real contributor to my sleep issues is the sun. I think it is conspiring with my blinds and my alarm clock to drive me crazy every morning. Somehow the alignment of the sun and my blinds is such that, about 20 minutes before my alarm goes off, the sun peeks through the space between the blinds and the wall and blinds me. I’m awakened every morning by the BURNING OF MY CORNEAS.

If I could just get rid of the snack-happiness of my dog, and Matt Dillon, and the Heat, and the freaking sun, I’d be well-rested. And probably much more pleasant to be around.

(This blog title is just for you, mom.)

Because we want to leave straight from work to go to the Over the Rhine/Hem show tonight, I went home this afternoon to walk Miles. The whole drive home? Sunny. Putting on the leash? Sunny. Walking down to the little park in the neighborhood? Sunny.

Waiting for Miles to go to the bathroom? THE HEAVENS OPENED UP AND THE RAIN CAME DOWN.

I, of course, had no umbrella. Miles, of course, freaked out and booked it for home. We ran back to the house, both of us soaked to the bone.

So. Fun.

Out there somewhere, I’m sure there’s a list of things you’re not supposed to let your dog do. Information about how you are supposed to be dominant and here’s how to make that happen. In fact, I know there is. I read Dogs For Dummies.

On that list, I’m sure, are things like “Don’t let your dog sleep in your bed” and “Don’t give your dog food from the table” and “Don’t let your dog completely control you”. They probably have tons of reasons why you shouldn’t do those things. Maybe the dog begins to think he is in charge. Maybe one day he’ll get rid of you so he can eat whatever he wants, including those chocolate graham crackers you won’t let him have (See! Discipline!) because they will kill him. He’ll eat them OH YES HE WILL.

We, of course, do not follow these rules. Miles? Is in charge. He’s like Charles, but with better hair.

We tried, we really did. We weren’t going to let him up on the bed. We got him a little doggie bed and put it on the floor, where he could see us but knew he wasn’t allowed where we were. When he jumped up on the bed, we made him get down. He was learning that he had his own bed, and that was where he could hang out. But, y’all, his little face is just so sad. Even when he is licking your face and wagging his tail, his eyes are sad. Sad and hard to resist. And eventually one of us (who? I can’t remember. No really. No idea.) started letting him hang out on the bed. Not while we were sleeping, but just while we were hanging around. He’s just so cuddly.

Today, that little doggie bed might as well be on the moon for all he uses it. He not only sleeps in our bed, he sleeps between us. He does not appreciate it when you make him go to the foot of the bed. He rebels by lying on your pillow. If your head happens to already be there, well, too bad. That’s what you get.

Miles was a shelter dog. When we picked him up from the house of the woman who ran the place, there were probably 15 dogs in the front yard. When she opened the door to bring him out, the barking we heard was unreal. There is no telling how many dogs were in there. The woman told us she’d just bathed both Miles and herself, but y’all, all we could smell was dog. Miles is very laid-back and chilled out, which probably served him well in that environment. That is, until mealtime.

I’m sure he had to fight for his food. He eats like he still does. As soon as that food hits the bowl, he is all over it. But his food obsession is not limited to dog food. Anytime you open the fridge, he is there, dying to know what you’re eating, and more importantly, can he have some? He sniffs at the bottles in the door and the food on the bottom shelf. And if you’re cooking, you can forget moving easily around the kitchen. He is at your feet, just waiting for something to fall. (Or for you to hand him something. Not that anyone I know does that.) He has also, somehow, learned to distinguish the sound of the pantry door being opened from the coat closet, even though they are right next to each other. Open the pantry, and his little head pops up and his ears are perked. He’s ready.

I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to give people food to dogs. But it’s just so funny. My favorite thing lately to give him has been ice cubes. He works so hard to get them chewed up, but he can’t seem to get it done before they melt. All that work for nothing. It’s like a race. A really, really funny race. He has also been known to eat pretzels, chicken, sausage, lettuce, croutons (those are especially fun because they fall apart when he bites into them and he gets confused) and pizza that was laying in our neighbor’s yard.

He eats our food, he sleeps in our bed, his sad little face dictates just about everything we do. I want, I want Miles in charge of me.

Can I just say? I am so Miles’ favorite.

I mean, there is no contest. No question. No tie-breakers. That dog loves me the mostest, and Aaron is a distant second. Veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery distant. I can’t even see him from here.

When we are watching TV, he always chooses me for some snuggle action. It doesn’t matter where I’m sitting, that’s where he wants to be. He’s especially fond of trying to get in my lap when I’m reading something… that’s sitting in my lap. He’ll flop right down on top of my newspaper or get in between me and the magazine. He knows that thing is getting my attention, and HE WANTS IT.

Last night I was on the sofa and Aaron was in the chair, and Miles was (of course) asleep in my lap. I moved my leg and woke him up. After giving me the MILES THE WONDER DOG LOOK OF DEATH, he walked down my leg to the end of the sofa. Aaron then tried to persuade him to come over to the chair.

(This, by the way, might be my second favorite Miles trick.)

Aaron: Miles, come here! *pats the ottoman* Come here, Miles!
Miles: (thinking) Is he crazy? He is so my second favorite.
Brandi: He’s not coming. I’m the favorite.
Aaron: Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiles. Come here, buddy.
Miles: (looks at me, thinking) Watch this.

Then he jumps off the sofa and runs toward the chair. Aaron gets ready for him to jump up, and… he doesn’t. It’s a total fakeout. He makes Aaron think he’s coming for some cuddling, but he’s not. He’s doing a 180 and heading right back to me.

Because my dog does some sweet tricks.

And I am the favorite.

The beginning of our adventure is here.

Aaron made it to the airport and DC with no problems, other than extreme sleepiness and frustration. I took a big fat nap and got dressed for Steffanie’s party. I had a reasonably good outfit, a fabulous new haircut, and my favorite shoes. I was set.

Traffic on 75 ruined my plans to drive to Melanie’s house and go to the party with her. I headed back to the in-laws’ house, only to get lost. (Darn new construction.) I finally got directions and was on my way. Due to poorly labeled roads I was about a half hour late, but once I got there all was well. I’ve been stressed out about this party since we started planning it in September, and despite a venue change it went off without a hitch. The food was wonderful, the company was good, the bridesmaids’ dresses were beautiful. I got lost of compliments on my hair, which was reassuring, and really enjoyed being adults with the friends I’ve had since childhood.

Sunday morning. I left Miles with my mother-in-law and headed for my parents’ house in Mesquite. They were decorating the tree that night, and I was thrilled to be a part of it. About halfway through the decorating, Aaron calls. He’s just heard from his mom, frantic.

Miles had gotten out. OUT.

She’d taken him out in the yard, and he’d squeezed himself through a loose board and was gone. Loose in the dark, in an unfamiliar place, in the cold. GONE.

I had no idea how much I loved that dog until he was missing. I felt like my heart itself was out wandering the streets, and I couldn’t rest until it was back where it belonged. My mom and I immediately went to their house and started combing the streets with flashlights and treats, calling his name.

Four hours later, there hadn’t been a trace of him. We had to leave so my mom could go to work the next day. I was sick.

Early Monday morning, I was up making copies of a lost dog flyer. (Thanks to the wonderful Kinko’s guy who didn’t charge me.) While Aaron’s mom hung the signs, I kept looking. Called the pound and the vet. Put a notice on Craigslist.

Not a trace of that dog anywhere.

I was starting to lose it. Walking down the street, crying. Jumping out of my skin every time the phone rang, desperate for it to be someone who’d found him.

I picked Aaron up from the airport and we continued to look. We’d decided to stick near the house, unsure of where else to go. Around 5:00, we took a break. I felt completely defeated. I couldn’t just sit around. I left to walk the neighborhood again, and Aaron’s parents went to check out a new neighborhood in the general direction we thought he’d taken off in.

While we were walking, Aaron’s phone rang.

Aaron: Hello? What? You’ve got him?

I have never moved so fast in my entire life as I did getting back to the house and into the car. His parents gave us directions and we were on our way. Miles is not a big fan of any people who aren’t Aaron or me, so Aaron kept his dad on the phone and told him things to say to get his attention without actually approaching him.

We found him sniffing around in a yard. I called his name, and he sprinted toward me. I picked him up and Aaron got the leash on him. He was filthy and smelled like garbage, and was covered in twigs and burrs.

We got him home and bathed, watered and fed. That dog drank like I’ve never seen him drink before. And then, he slept. And slept. And slept.

He’d been gone almost exactly 24 hours. For those hours, I was like a shell of myself, walking around in a daze imagining all the terrible things that could be happening to him. My heart was completely broken. Monday night, it was raining and sleeting. If he’d been out in that, I don’t know what I would have done.

So now he’s home, safe and dry and warm. He’ll be on the leash anytime he goes outside for the rest of the trip. He’s shaky and scared, but he’ll make it. And so will I.