Saturday, February 24, 2007
Lucy and Lizzie
Lucy and Lizzie have shared my life for almost four years now. Adopting them wasn't easy; everything in DC is stupid competitive including finding a suitable small or medium sized dog. I hit the Washington Animal Rescue League (WARL) at least twice a week hoping to find some mutt no one wanted but each dog usually had a long waiting list of Senators or Nobel Prize winners who owned a large farms frequently visited by crippled orphans.
I thought I had struck the doggie lottery when I discovered the adorable five year old sisters Lucy and Lizzie. The League was only interested in someone who would adopt both. They weren't immediately available due to medical reasons and were "old" in dog AND gay years (35) thus eliminating those who only wanted young leash candy and guaranteeing that my dogs would never leave me for $1 Sunday Vodka Specials at JRs.
Figuring two would be as easy to care for as one, I gulped and signed the papers and began daily visitation. Lizzie had heartworms and was recovering for some reason in the Cat House which I guess is "The Promises" of WARL. Lucy was resting comfortably in the Dog Pavilion after being spayed.
Each day I would visit Lucy and take her to see Lizzie for family bonding amongst the cats. Lucy would stare adoringly into my eyes and lick me and I thought, "She loves me, she is the perfect pet." Lizzie just trembled and gave me that doggie victim look that says "I'm sorry sir, please don't burn me with your cigarette again" and I thought "She needs me, she is the perfect pet."
Four years later Lucy still stares adoringly into my eyes. All day. All night. Obsessive scary stalker staring. I wake up at 3:00 am and there she is staring at me if she isn't licking the blanket. Or licking my arm, scalp, toes, or random items of clothing. Licking 24 X 7. Licking that doesn't stop until the skin breaks. Otherwise she is staring. STARING. Staring and thinking about how she would like to lick me. I am just one big potbellied human popsicle to her.
Four years later Lizzie still has the Battered Dogs Hotline on speed dial. She knows that despite being fed, pampered, and sheltered by me, tonight COULD be the night I decide to off her in some particularly gruesome manner. When I walk by Lizzie cringes and gets in the that doggie submissive pose. If only this could be the crowds reaction to me at the Eagle.
Lucy sleeps, within a tongues length, on the well licked and soggy pillow near my head each night. At the foot of the bed quakes and trembles Lizzie, poised to make a run for it if I suddenly awaken in the mood to bludgeon her with the remote control. Between all the licking, trembling, and oh I forgot to mention Lucy's snoring, is it any wonder I have red eyes every morning?
Now that the floors have been refinished we have a new issue--doggie scratches on the floor. Scratches from Lizzie running from me and Lucy running towards me. I never wanted to become that person who insists that everyone de-shoe upon entering. However, I am beginning to think that this is a good idea: