August 31, 2015

My New Roommates

This weekend, Derrick and I moved in with three new roommates. They don't have the best breath, and two of them keep walking in on me when I pee. They also keep pooping in our neighbor's yard and expecting us to pick it up for them. Because they're not our roommates. They're dogs.

Okay, Derrick and I were dog sitting this weekend for a friend who was out of town.

I'm going to be upfront with you here: I'm not great with animals, just like I'm not great with children. I mean, I like them, but I don't know how to do a "baby voice" or a "dog voice." Instead, I treat them both like human adults; when I meet a new dog, I end up uncomfortably saying something like, "Hello dog. I've heard great things about you. You're a big fan of bacon, right?"

Luckily for me, one of the dogs we dog sat was extremely human-like. In fact, I don't think I've ever bonded with a dog as well as I bonded with Mira.


Because Mira wasn't like your typical goopy dog rolling over for a belly scratch. No, Mira was sophisticated and was not particularly impressed that we could open the treat bag. She spent most of the time in the corner of the room looking more or less unamused.

I mean, she was a very kind dog; every once in a while, she'd come join us on the bed or sit next to us on the couch. But even when she did this, it was like she considered us equals, as if we had come over for a dinner party that she was politely hosting. And she still wore that same, unamused look. Like she was thinking, "Okay, I'll humor you, but I'd like you to leave once my humans get back."

I felt like I understood Mira better than I understand most people, in fact. I felt sad leaving her, like I was leaving a good friend.

The other two though, they were a different story.

One of the other two was a tiny kitten named Gypsy.


Gypsy was also somewhat distant, but not the "I'll humor you because you seem desperate" kind of aloof that Mira was. No, Gypsy seemed like a hipster who was forced into a Taylor Swift concert. She knew she was too cool for this crowd and was just waiting to get back to her kind.

Which, I mean, was understandable. You see, Gypsy is a street cat who our friend saved.

Literally. Our friend was at a red light when she saw baby Gypsy jump on the tire of the car next to her. If our friend hadn't jumped out of the car and pounded on that car's window, Gypsy would have probably ended up as a cat-shaped splat on the road.

So given Gypsy's history on the streets, I can understand why she wasn't impressed with her new roommates. Because while Mira was cool, collected, and civilized, Piper the Jack Russell was the complete opposite. You see, Piper is just a puppy, which seemed to multiply her Jack Russell level energy ten fold.

The best way I can think to explain Piper is to imagine if Spongebob Squarepants was made of springs. She was always there and always wanting part of the action; Derrick and I would be sitting on two separate couches and Piper would spring back and forth and up and down from our heads to our chests and back again.

Sometimes, she wasn't even looking for our attention at all; sometimes she was just bouncing around the kitchen like a ping pong ball without any particular direction. And on the rare occasions we could get her to sit down, I swear she would buzz like a battery. I think Piper did have a battery, a battery that never, ever died.

Derrick and I would find it somewhat amusing (at least after 7:30 AM), but Gypsy did not. I could try to explain their relationship, but I think the following montage of pictures does it best. I was trying to get a nice picture of Gypsy and Mira to send to our friend. Instead, I got this:


As you can see, Piper couldn't stand to be left out. The moment I pulled out my camera, you could basically hear her little heart pounding, like she was screaming, "ME! OVER HERE! TAKE A PICTURE OF ME! KITTEN! PICTURE! WEE!" And Gypsy wasn't having it.

And Mira? She just did what she always did; gave me that look that very clearly said, "I'm surrounded by idiots."