Her Name Is Lucy

This week, Brother and I are playing dogsitter for Brother's Special Friend. Last week, she apparently was rip-snortin' drunk, and thought oatmeal sounded like a fine idea. So, she puts a bowl in the microwave and zaps it for five minutes. Ding! She pulls it out and apparently has a seizure and spills the scalding contents of the bowl all over her. Later, in her post-dictal state, she comes to with severe burns on her arms and legs, and has no recollection of how she got them.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking...she just passed out from the booze and burned herself. While this might seem like a valid explanation, folks who are drunk, and burn themselves that badly, usually sober up right away. At any rate, Special Friend has a history of seizures. So moving right along...

Special Friend was admitted to the hospital on a burn floor, and would Brother mind watching her puppy while she's away? Sure! So, Brother brings home the dog. A one-year old mix of Rottweiler and German Shepherd. Her name is Lucy, and she is not fully house trained. Wonderful.

Sam didn't like Lucy right away. In fact, he became insanely hostile in a way I've never seen him be. So much, that I had to stand on the back deck with the garden hose and spray him anytime he took after her. There's no need to be territorial. Everyone is welcome here.

At the end of the day, Sam and Lucy became friends. Now, they are best friends. They play in the yard, they play in the house, they play in that mud puddle I have out by the storage shed. They take naps side by side. They eat together. They crap together. They were in secret collusion together when they destroyed my birdbath. When Sam sleeps in his kennel, she sleeps on the floor outside of it. It's almost nauseating how much togetherness I've witnessed this past week.

She's a sweet dog. Mild tempered. But man, she has the nastiest farts I have ever smelled coming from any living organism. They rival that of Brother's farts...which are also so bad, the paint peels off the walls.

Yesterday, I came home from work and Brother announced that Lucy killed a opossum in the back yard. Skeptical, he told me it was still out by the deck, so I looked, and was immediately sorry I did because it was nasty. I think opossums are nasty creatures. I couldn't decide if I should congratulate Lucy, or be repulsed. I never knew I had opossums in the back yard. Perhaps it lived under the deck. Maybe that's what that big hole by my deck is from. Whatever the case may be, I hope it's little friends witnessed the demise and have decided to move next door where the threat level is lower because they only have a little Pomeranian named Honey.

I demanded that Brother remove the offending carcass from the back yard as the dogs were wanting to go outside with the urgency of a crackhead that needs a rock. They wanted to revisit the scene of the crime, and I wasn't too keen on the idea of finding little opossum parts scattered around the lawn.

Now, Lucy has gone home as Special Friend has returned. Sam mopes around the house and looks for her, and has returned to barking at the dust bunnies under the couch. Maybe I will find him a more permanent playmate down the road. Maybe after the first of the year when I don't have so many things on my mind.