unleash the hellish

it's two weeks into my dog-sitting debut, and thus far my first foray into canine companionship has been a true trial by fire.

although i anticipated adapting to a dependent's schedule, i was unprepared for the toll. like clockwork, at the crack of dawn, our temporary pooch rustles at the foot of the bed. a collection of familiar sounds indicates the day's first duty is imminent: the inimitable alternating rapid thwack of floppy ears propelled in a head shake, the aggressive genitalia lapping, the panting and yawning and snorting that rivals any alarm clock. accordingly, i succumb to the wake 'n' walk.

the beagle mix keeps the pink leash taut, sniffing each lawn like a sleuth. there's the awkward eye contact when she squats to leave her scent, as if to say, 'just a sec, i gotta mark this'. then, of course, there's the stoop to scoop, which (although i've become more accustomed to retrieving) never fails to make me shudder. as if this process isn't demeaning enough, a drive-by cheap shot startled me recently, as a dude lobbed a 'get a real dog' grenade from a passing van. a charlie brown rain cloud formed over my head.

beyond these trials of normal dog responsibilities, a couple of specific challenges emerged. first, there were the fleas. the incessant scratching tipped us off, and the sight of the minuscule culprit performing an olympic leap from the dog's belly to our bed has caused our distress over supposed full-blown home infestation.

worse, the former stray is squarely in heat, which not only enlarges her lady parts, but also induces menstrual discharge. sharing a bed with the fleabag is already a compromise, but the dripping nether region is completely repugnant.

i love cats.