Drug Park Update - Part Deux

All has been quiet at the drug park lately. Almost as quiet as it has been on this blog.

However, the other day as I approached the park, I saw the familiar sight of a police car parked along the curb. As I drove past, I saw that the whole picnic table area was cordoned off and surrounded by yellow police tape. Seriously, WTF are those dudes doing over there???

That same night, I stopped at my local grocery store on the way home from work. And, of course, in the parking lot there was a police car. Heh, they're like pigeons in my neighborhood... As I walk up to the entrance of the grocery store, I can see that one of the doors is all blocked off by police tape, and that the cops have a guy spread-eagled on the hood of their squad car. As I walk by, one of the policeman suddenly shouts at the guy "because you're DRUNK, that's why!!" Ahhh, if I had a quarter for every time I've heard that...

Finally just as I enter the store, I encounter a very irate woman shouting into her cell phone. I didn't quite catch the whole conversation, but I believe the basic gist of things pertained to how badly Albertson's was going to be getting their ass sued because of what had just happened to her.

I really need to move.

Drug Park Update

Driving to work this morning, I noticed three or four police cars parked on the side of the road as I approached the afore-mentioned "drug park". Driving past, I looked into the park to see what must have been at least 6 police officers gathered around the picnic tables.

Guess those guys weren't just having the worlds longest picnic...

Park - 1. Me - 0.

Despite the fact that there is a park located quite close to my house, I rarely take the dogs to it. Perhaps the fact that I have come to think of the park as "the drug park" has something to do with that. But every so often, I decide I am being prejudiced about this conveniently located park and decide to give it another chance.

And, all in all, it isn't that bad. I mean, just because there is a group of men that constantly hang out at the picnic table area at all hours of the day or night, it doesn't mean that those men are drug dealers. Or homeless people. I'm pretty sure it just means that they are having a picnic. A really long picnic. On a weekday. At 7:42am. Or 11:57pm. And all the hours in-between.

And it isn't that big a deal that to get to the grassy part of the park, you have to walk over this little footbridge, that a guy... um... lives under. Fortunately, I don't wear skirts to the park. (Fortunate for that homeless guy, heh heh...)

So we went to the park the other day, and we made it across the footbridge without incident. But I am always paranoid that I am going to have some kind of awkward social interaction with the.... denizens... of the park. Anyway, we went over to the most deserted corner of the park and I let the dogs off leash for a little run. Well, Ranger ran and Gwen mostly waddled. She has the chunky solid fat that's all in one big lump. When she waddles at a semi-high speed, she looks like a brick wall coming at you. Ranger's fat is more squishy-like and it undulates in a charming fashion when he runs. He looks like a 100-lb lava lamp with fur.

After all that running, waddling and undulating, I put the dogs back on their leashes and walked over to the water fountain near the picnic tables to get the dogs a drink. And, yes, the world's longest picnic was in full swing. I am trying to be very unobtrusive so that no one talks to me. Well, as unobtrusive as a big fat chick with two big fat dogs can be.

Just as I am about to head past the picnic tables to the other side of the park, one of the drug dealers/homeless guys/extreme picnic-ers calls out to me - "Hey, Miss Ma'am..." And of course, I am still thinking "Please don't talk to me. Pleeeeeeeease don't talk to me. I don't want any crack and if I had any extra money I would have already spent it on grape soda and People magazine." I am tempted to pretend I don't hear him and just keep on truckin'. But what I actually do is say "Hi, how are you today?" He asks me where I am going, and I reply that we are just walking around. He then proceeds not to offer to sell me drugs, ask me for money, or even invite me to a picnic. He instead tells me that I may not want to go down to the other side of the park, as there is a dog down there (off its leash) that might give my dogs some trouble. Oh. Okay.

I thank him for the information and proceed to move quickly in the other direction (have I mentioned recently that Ranger is a total asshat with other dogs? Yeah, he's a lover, not a fighter. But he's also a fighter.) As I am walking away, behind me I hear the universal signal for someone who can't control their dog - the escalating shrieking of the dog's name. "Koda... Koda.... KODAAAAAAA!"

So we start booking it towards the car (Run away! Run away!), pursued at a distance by the other dog, who has seen us and whose interest is piqued. Now my dogs are not smart enough to have actually noticed the presence of the other dog yet, so I am trying to drag them away as quickly as possible while still looking nonchalant. And, they, of course, suddenly find every little thing endlessly fascinating and in need of investigation - "Oooh, a blade of grass.... Oooh, an empty crack vial.... Ooh, a dude under the bridge..."

We make it back to the car without any close encounters of the rogue dog kind, and no incident more serious than a severe case of sweaty jean waistband for me (I believe I have previously mentioned how much I hate this). Crisis averted.

So, Mr. Homeless Guy/Drug Dealer/Extreme Picnic-er? Thanks for the warning - you are a nice guy.

And I? Am a judgemental bitch.

Tired Dog? Priceless...

Ranger got to go to the park today. Since I now pretty much only have 1 day off a week, why waste it on trivial things like cleaning my house, doing laundry, or shopping for food? Hell, let's take the dog to the park! Seriously, I have been feeling bad about the dogs not getting out of the house as much as they used to, so I committed to getting them out today. Well, Gwen woke up all stiff and sore today so a marathon park trip was out for her. She got a pig's ear, which was cool by her. In her book a pig's ear is actually better than traipsing around a barren, sun-scorched field in the mid-day heat until the sweat runs down your back and makes the waistband of your jeans all damp and yucky. Or maybe I am just projecting...

So, the park was fine, the park was great. Then on the way back to the car we see them. Sprinklers. (Insert a chorus of angelic voices, and a golden shaft of light shining down from heaven.) Yeah, one of us is a total sprinkler whore, and it ain't the one in the sweat-soaked jeans. Needless to say, frolicking ensues.

Is it worth hauling a huge, soaking wet, smelly dog home in the back of my car just to give him the only few moments of pure, blissful fun that he's had in weeks? And then letting the still damp, still smelly dog fall asleep on my couch in total relaxed contentment?

I don't know, you tell me...

Separation Anxiety

So, Ranger went to get his teeth cleaned a few days ago. For him it was a relatively simple and painless procedure, but not so for me - I was a wreck...

This is the first time that I have had him anesthetized in the 4 years that I have had him, and I was crazy paranoid and worried. When we got to the vet, he was fine until he realized that he was supposed to go off with the vet tech, and then he was like "Oh, HELL no". And, by the way, he weighs 105 lbs. And when he does not want to do something (i.e. get his nails cut, or go with an unfamiliar vet tech) he goes Ghandi and practices passive resistance. So, Ms. Well Meaning Vet Tech? That little shoestring of a leash you have just placed around his neck is not going to be sufficient to drag my dog's floppy, limp, flour sack of a body across the waiting area and into the back room...

Of course his reluctance to go with the vet tech broke my heart. Then when I got home, I realized that I have never been in this house without him here with me. Yeah, I was a little stressed. Gwen tried to make me feel better by being extra barky, smelly and annoying. But it wasn't the right kind of barky, smelly and annoying. So, I had perhaps just a touch of separation anxiety. (OK, OK, I got into the trash, and chewed the corner of the couch. And I pee'd a little. And Cesar Millan had to come put me into a calm-submissive state.)

Of course, Ranger came through fine. When I went to pick him up, the vet tech did tell me that Ranger still had a bandage on his leg that they had left for me to take off later tonight. Why? Apparently, Ranger wanted NOTHING to do with any of them. In addition to the floppy, flour sack passive resistance, he also does this thing where he somehow manages to pull all four legs under his body at the same time. If you pull one leg out, he immediately snaps it right back in. Since no actual growling, biting, or shooting blood from his eyes was mentioned, I got the impression there may have been some of the turtle-legs going on. Yes, my dog is a big dork. And I, being an even bigger dork than my dog is, cried when he was back with me in the car.

The icing on the top of this co-dependancy cake? While I am picking Ranger up, the vet comes out because he wants to show me a picture he took of Ranger with his cell phone. Apparently, my dog tried to climb into the vet office's laundry bin. He was scared, and he tried to cram all 105 lbs. of himself into this tiny little bin under the dirty laundry in an attempt to hide from everyone.

And that? Is simultaneously the funniest, and most heartbreaking, thing I have ever heard.

The Starlight Barking

My dogs are involved in an evil plan to rule the world. I'm a little sketchy on the exact details, but it seems to involve systematically depriving me of sleep until I am so exhausted that I don't notice they are going online to buy weapons-grade plutonium. I am not allowed to sleep for any more than a couple hours in a row at this point, day or night.

Last night, during one of the brief periods of unconciousness I am allowed, one of the dogs politely informed me that they needed to go outside for a potty break. I let them outside and immediately Ranger (he's my slightly less fat, deeply weird, co-dependent, non-girl dog) begins to bark. Loudly and insistently. At 2:30 in the morning. Which is a little strange, because he is my "good" dog. (Hey, "good" is a relative term.) Since my screaming at him to be quiet at 2:30am is probably equally, if not more, annoying than his actual barking, I use my Whisper of Death to tell him to shut up. I have no clue what he's barking at - probably the dog next door, because he has only seen it 363 times or so. Apparently, there's still a shock factor. Gwen, (my grotesquely obese, completely clueless, couldn't-care-less-about-me, non-boy step-dog), is silent, which is odd because she usually barks at air molecules and the startling sight of her own feet. (Ha! As if she can see them!). I can only assume silence from her means she has died. But no, there she is - hauling her fat furry ass back up the stairs.

When I get up to feed the dogs at about 6:30am, and let them outside yet again, Ranger once more goes off. He never barks, so he really isn't just saying to the dog next door "Hey, what did you have for breakfast? Oh yeah? I had kibble. Yeah, my mommy's kind of a bitch. She could lose a few pounds, too". This is the WOHWOHWOHWOH bark. The "Seriously, WTF is that?" bark. There is NOTHING out there, you idiots.

Right before I go to work, I let the dogs out one final time. You guessed it - WOHWOHWOHWOH. I have just about had it now, so I race to the bathroom window at the back of the house to scream at the dogs. It is only then that I finally figure out what they are barking at.

The neighbors behind me have erected a teepee in their back yard. A TEEPEE. An actual wigwam. And, I'm not talking a couple broomsticks with a blanket thrown over them for the kids to play in. This thing is, like, 20 feet tall with poles and canvas and fluttering ribbons. It's full-on sweat lodge action over there. No wonder my dogs are freaking out! Hell, I want to bark at it! Ranger is just like "Yeah, I tried to mention that..."

It also has a skate-ramp, which I believe is non-traditional.

I bring the dogs inside and just before she steps inside, just now - after three trips outside to teepee land, after three major-league freak-outs by her brother - Gwen just now finally notices the existence of the giant teepee. WOHWOHWOHWOHWOHWOH! Sigh... She rides the short bus.

Now they will both bark at the damn teepee for the next six months until they finally get used to it. Then the neighbors will take it down. And my rocket scientists? Will then bark because it's gone.

Welcome to Hell

Welcome to my blog. Or, as I like to call it - my little slice of hell.

Using the magic of the internets I will talk about anything that interests me (mostly my dogs), post numerous pictures (of said dogs), and just generally share my thoughts and feelings with my readers. Which will be, basically... my dogs.

If you expect me to discuss politics, wax poetic on my thoughts on world peace, or address deep intellectual issues, maybe you should read the title of the blog again. Go on, I'll wait... Done? OK. Are we on the same page now? I have no life.

So, if you don't mind reading about how cute my dog's lips look when he sleeps, or what I bought at Target today, c'mon in.

Welcome to hell!