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Baby boomers seem predisposed to living in mountains

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LCCC swears in new trustees

<p>Being Maria&#8217;s new puppy is a job. Don&#8217;t get me wrong; I love the old lady, but she is C.R.A.Z.Y.</p><p>The day I was adopted, she hugged and kissed me a little too hard. I mean, really, puppies spinal columns are as fragile as dandelion stalks!</p><p>Then, she had the audacity to put me in a pet carrier for the ride home. <em>Hellllo!</em> No. I was never crated or caged a day in my 8-week life and I wasn&#8217;t going to start now. I yelped incessantly the entire way home. At one point, she pulled over, put her head on the steering wheel, wept and kept saying: &#8220;What the hell have I done? <em>What have I done</em>?&#8221;</p><p>Mission accomplished. She took me out of the cage. She didn&#8217;t look like she wanted to hug me anymore. But she did look like she wanted to smother me with her special Breast &amp; Chest Buddy Seatbelt Cushion (shameless plug).</p><p>I guess I was so excited to be out of that carrier, I may have manifested that enthusiasm by aggressively pooping in the passenger&#8217;s seat. Like, a lot. I may have tinkled too. We arrived home and she muttered: &#8220;I smell a stinker &#8230; <em>Oh my God</em>!&#8221;</p><p>She started to cry again, but then she abruptly ceased, saying: &#8220;Wait. This is Nancy&#8217;s car!&#8221; I don&#8217; know what that meant, but it seemed to make her feel better and less angry at me. In fact, she giggled. A lot.</p><p>I then met Oliver, my stepbrother. He walked right by me, snout in the air. What the hell? We were <em>brothers</em> now. We were supposed to bond and terrorize Maria together. If I didn&#8217;t have a cohort who would cover for me when I crapped in the walk-in shower, what was a Yorkie to do? He&#8217;d warm up to me once I started sharing my treats with him &#8212; or pretended to.</p><p>At any rate, Maria and I soon began &#8220;The Dance of the Outdoor BM-a-Thon.&#8221; You know the one I mean. She feeds me, gives me water, then scoops me up and takes me outside where she continuously chats: &#8220;Hurryupbeagoodboygotothebathroom. Hurryup Hurry up. <em>Hurry</em>. <em>Up</em>.&#8221; I love just screwing with her by lying in the sun and not moving. Because &#8230; guess what? I pooped in her closet 15 minutes ago. She just hasn&#8217;t found that little nugget yet.</p><p>And as we wait for my lower intestine to process that gross kibble I &#8230; Oh look! Something shiny! I need to chase it in lieu of pooping! What is that? So much fun running in a circle around Maria&#8217;s legs and cutting off all circulation. She looks like she may cry again. Oh. That shiny thing was my dog tag&#8217;s reflection in the sun. What a letdown. I thought it was a fairy.</p><p>You know what else is enjoyable? Leaving raw hides and bully sticks (please Google that. You won&#8217;t believe what they are made of &#8230;) up and down the hallway at night. I love when she wakes up three to four times (menopause) and scampers down the hallway in bare feet, hitting every doggy landmine along the way and yelling words I have never heard of in my entire life. They sound bad, though. Really bad.</p><p>Today, because it was 48 degrees outside and because she only has two settings &#8211; hot flash hot and ice, ice cold &#8211; she decided she was freezing, so I needed a sweater. A very thick and scratchy sweater. I was sweating my collar off. Oh, it was all very Ralph-Lauren-Meets-Canine-Country-Club, but people, trust me on this, if you were covered from the top of your head to the tips of your paws in fur, you wouldn&#8217;t need a sweater. Or a raincoat. Or a shawl. Or a bow tie. Or a Halloween costume.</p><p>Please just let us be.</p><p>If we&#8217;re cold, we&#8217;ll curl up in a ball and heat our own selves; no need to cloak us in wool and Sherpa. Would you put a lamb in an LL Bean crew neck? No. You would not.</p><p>She is a handful, this new owner of mine. With no kids in our house, however, I gluttonously receive inappropriate amounts of affection and love I have never before experienced. Sure, she dresses me in Fair Isle sweaters, but I can overlook that. She didn&#8217;t even yell at me when I pooped in her new moccasin this morning, and she keeps my bully stick inventory full. (By the way, after you Google that, keep in mind I joyously lick her face after chewing one).</p><p>My days and nights are so much better now that I am a member of the Heck Asylum. And life is good. Doggone it, I love this crazy lady already. I really, pawsitively do. Double woof.</p><style>
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<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck</p><p>Life Deconstructed</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Maria Jiunta Heck, of West Pittston, is a mother of three and a business owner who lives to dissect the minutiae of life. Send Maria an email at mariajh40@msn.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Life Deconstructed: Dog Log: Entry one in Maria’s dog’s diary