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21st Century Lesbian Trailer Trash

These are the mad musings of a middle aged woman, dyke, nurse, poet. I have a dog, a cat, a mobile home, and delusions of grandeur.

Location: California, United States

Monday, March 06, 2006

Doggone It!

So here I am taking care of my neighbor's animals while he leaves for a week to help his sister in northern California. The last time was a breeze. I fed the cats. I let them in and out. I made sure mama racoon and her babies had food so they wouldn't break into his house.

This time, my neighbor leaves his dog. A sweet little long haired? Peekapoo maybe? Her name is Muffin. She came right to me when we were introduced. For the last 24 hours, she won't let me near her.

I forget that all dogs are not as lovingly dumb as mine. Maggie will bark and bellow like the best of watchdogs. As soon as you are in the house, she is all over you like chocolate on a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Really, this dog never met a stranger.

Not so with Muffy. I entered the house yesterday morning and heard frantic barking in the back. At first I thought maybe she was locked up in the bedroom. I picked my way through the living room, then the den, then into the bedroom. There sits the dog, on top of the bed (which is piled a mile high with books) barking at me ferociously.

And so it has continued for the duration. In order to understand the problem this creates, you have to picture my neighbor's mobile home. Such as it is. Although it is structurally sound, and looks rather charming from the outside, the innards are those of the proverbial antisocial, mad genius with precious junk strewn and piled everywhere.

He has about 4 various couches and beds. It's possible that 2 of those are clear enough to sleep on. But you could only walk through his paths single file. There are books, DVDs, computer equipment, newspapers, mail, knick knacks, and unidentified stationary objects covering almost every square inch of space. And these various objects are sometimes piled several feet high. In other words, next to him, I look like Martha Stewart without the jail term.

The kitchen, because of all of the pet food and the lack of cleaning, is full of ants. I feel like I should spray myself with insectiside before I reenter my own place.

Can you imagine what one week of the dog not going out will add to the gestalt? I can't even figure out where she is doing her bathroom business. And if I could, I most likely would not be able to reach the spot. Both places that Muffin is hiding from me are completely unreachable. Even if I could grab her I probably would not try since she could bite me.

The cats are fine. I just hope the dog warms up to me soon. The neighbor failed to call me, as promised, with his sister's phone number. So I won't be getting any tips from him. This is why I kennel my dog when I leave town.

Kinja, the weblog guide


Blogger Sandra said...

Oh Pam, gross. You are an angel for even stepping foot in the house. I do feel a little sorry for the dog. Don't worry, even if she is messing in the house it will take him years to find it. Do what you can, but be careful.

6:59 PM PST  
Blogger NursePam said...

LOL! She's still barking in the back bedroom. It occurred to me that she might be using the bathroom but I couldn't find enough light tonight to get there without breaking my neck.

9:10 PM PST  
Blogger Pat Kirby said...

>>In other words, next to him, I look like Martha Stewart without the jail term.


7:55 AM PST  

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