The Perfect Dinner Companion

I came to Tahoe this afternoon. After unloading the car and refueling the kids' bellies, we went to the pool. Kiki was swimming around in the water, and then had a look of panic saying, "I have to go to the bathroom." 

This could only mean number two, as she is a huge proponent for peeing in pools, and often times, she likes to make a loud announcement AFTER she has emptied her bladder.

We raced to the toilet, and the freezing cold air made the run especially invigorating. I plopped her on the toilet after peeling the wet bathing suit from her skin. The hardest part about taking her to the bathroom is making sure that George doesn't try to put his mouth on anything disgusting, or stick his hand in the tiny garbage can next to the toilet.

Today, he was easily corralled at the door lock, distracted by repeatedly attempting to unlock. He ran over to the toilet one time, and I blocked him using some of my JV basketball skills. He threw his head over my hip, and looked in the toilet bowl, saying enthusiastically, "Chocolate!"

I said, "No way George! Not chocolate!" Squashing any ideas that might pop into his head. He walked back over to the door lock, and I finished taking care of Kiki. I pulled her suit back on just as George crawled under the stall and ran back to the pool. We ran after him, plunging back into water that felt remarkably warmer than when we first arrived.

After swimming I called my sister, who lives three houses down from the pool, and she invited us over.

When I showed up, her husband opened the door, and told me not to worry about locking the gate because he had to put their dog down earlier that day. I didn't know this was happening, and could sense the grief wafting from the open door. They are dog people, even letting their dog sleep on their bed pillows. When they first adopted the dog, the three of them slept in bed like an 1800's farm family, lined up, using each other for heat. I went in their house to find my sobbing sister roaming her house unhinged with sadness.

I knew they ran into problems because their dog bit someone, but didn’t know it escalated to this level. The woman who was nipped by my sister's dog put in claims against the dog so she could get monetarily reimbursed for her distress. The officer, who kept the dog at the pound after the biting, sounded very confident that the lady who the dog attacked was fine. He said her bite was barely a scratch.

After my sister sprung her dog from the pound, and took a break from looking over her shoulder, her husband retrieved a letter from the mailbox from the victim’s husband. It claimed a number of expenses were incurred due to her injury, and they needed to be monetarily reimbursed.

My sister called them, and after hearing the husband say repeatedly, "We aren't the kind of people to do this, but..."

My sister could only reply, "How much money do you want then?"

They couldn't settle on a number and needed a couple weeks to wrangle up receipts and documents proving costs. In the meantime, my sister's dog was cited and marked uninsurable. 

I don’t even like dogs, and I loved that dog. If I lived on a little house in big woods, I would want my sister's dog standing guard. He let George pull on his tail and stick his finger in his eye. My sister's dog was not the brightest. He was always getting into trouble by eating the most bizarre household items. He ate my parents' air conditioning vent, he ate BBQ hickory chips, he ate a life jacket, and he even ate a butane lighter. He ate poop! Other dog's poop! Maybe he thought it looked like chocolate. 

Their dog almost attacked me once. He has poor eyesight, and as I came out of my parents' garage, he didn't recognize me. He was very defensive, barking like mad. I froze stiff, and yelled for someone in my family to come and rescue me. Remaining calm on the outside, I moved closer to the door, inch by inch. My parents' dog came in the garage, and although he joined in on the barking, he ran at me. My sister's dog followed and once he got closer he lost the teeth baring bark, and regained his lively leaping and happy disposition. When I went in the house, out of breath and heart pacing, everyone looked at me unimpressed as I told them how I escaped death. The most sympathetic reaction I received was, "He has very bad eye sight, Alicia."

I adopted a reaction similar to my family’s this time. I hope the dog was protecting his house. I have a hard time imagining what this woman was doing standing outside their fence, except provoking the dog. Most likely she was poking at the dog with a stick as dollar signs danced around in her eyes.

She succeeded in being the kind of person who she claims not to be, and will get a check from the insurance company. The dog is now eternally chasing the sausage truck, or a chocolate truck, or maybe a poop truck. He would enjoy anything, really. A rare breed who liked to eat everything.