Creampuff Revolution

Creampuff and Dog Share Another Magic Thursday

Okay, okay. Three dog posts in a row. But that's IT, I swear.

The pants of our condo building are fancy. But the surrounding neighbourhood is a little sketchalicious. Buildings are boarded up. Folks sleep in the parks. Everyone seems to have their own shopping cart. There's a lot of free buttcrack. Regular crack, though - not free. Well - maybe your first time.

Walking the dog for a couple of hours a day means that we get to meet alot of the people in our neighbourhood, just like on Sesame Street. Sometimes, the dog and I accidentally stumble into people's homes, many of which are under trees. Emmy Lou is a big hit with the park people, because she likes to sniff them but resists being stroked. They respect her aloofness, I think. Also, how could they help but love her? She is a cute noodle.

After an incident yesterday morning when Emmy widdled on some cranky man's shopping cart, she and I decided to eschew our usual afternoon park promenade and sample the delights of the Keefer Place parkette, which is in a slightly fancier area and which features lots of beautiful trees and shrubbery and private little nooks. There is a lovely stream-like fountain meandering down the hill. There are grassy slopes and lots of places to sit. We were pretty excited to check it out.

It may surprise you to learn that I don't see a lot of penis in my day to day doings. But yesterday, Emmy and I were both treated to some free wang with some bonus hairy ass on the side, all with the soothing sound of flowing water in the background. I have to say that if I wanted to smoke crack or wave my cock around outdoors, I'd do it in the bucolic setting of the Keefer Place parkette too. Pretty much everywhere we went, people were enjoying a recreational pharmaceutical experience or whizzing against a tree. Emmy joined in enthusiastically.

As we reached the other end of the park, we ran into the people we thought we'd see in this area. They were huddled together in fear of the riff-raff - slim ladies with their pugs on extenda-leashes in one hand and Starbucks coffee drinks in the other. It was at the feet of one of these ladies that Emmy decided it was time to crap heavily. Shockingly, we made no friends in that part of the park.

Emmy passed out when we got home and I was glad, for it was time for me to try leaving her alone again, which I haven't done since last Thursday when I locked myself out of the house. As usual, I'd left an application until the last minute and I had to dash for the post-office in order to get it in on time. Emmy barely raised her head when I left and I congratulated myself on bringing my keys this time.

I got up to the post office only to discover that I had missed the driver and could no longer send an envelope over night. FOILED!! Furious with myself, I swore all the way home while trying to decide the best course of action. Should I hike all the way to the FedEx place downtown? Should I just give it up and try not to be such a procrastinating dork next time? How long had the dog been alone? What did that guy with the shopping cart just say about my shoes?

As I rounded the corner onto my street, I saw a UPS van. UPS had fucked us Wednesday by not showing up for a pick-up. The package was upstairs, in our condo. I suddenly had a brilliant idea.

Habib the UPS driver didn't really want to wait for me to go upstairs and come back down with the package and THEN wait for me to fill out a waybill for my envelope. But he was a good, kind man. I flew fatly into our building and burst into our apartment, greatly upsetting the dog as I snatched the UPS-bound package and took off again. Minutes later, Habib drove off with my two packages and I congratulated myself on being a FUCKING GENIUS. I strode triumphantly up to the door of our building and pressed the button on my key fob to get in. Then I pressed it again. Then I went to the other door and pressed it. Then I pressed it again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" said Katr, as I called her at work to tell her that for the second week in a row I had locked myself out and the dog in. "Excuse me for just a sec - I'm going to need to call the Incredulity Hotline."

"It's not my fault!" I said, "it's the fob! The fob's not fucking working! And at least I have my cellphone this time!"

"The Incredulity Hotline's got me on hold. Can you believe it?"

As I settled down to wait for Katr to come home - EARLY - I was subject to alot of suspicious glances from the other residents of our building. None of them looked me in the eye, even the ones I'd seen before. And they were all extremely careful to make sure that they closed the door behind them so that I couldn't follow them inside. At first I didn't think much of it - I can't get up to our floor without the key fob anyway, so merely getting into the lobby was of no use to me. But it slowly began to dawn on me that they were afraid. Afraid that the sweaty, wild-eyed creampuff with the dirty feet and the novelty purse was sitting dangerously close to the door. Afraid that if they let their guard down, I might get in and fill my shopping cart with the contents of their homes.

I was tempted to rush the door, just to see what would happen. But before I could choose the right victim, Katr strolled into view and halted my nefarious plans.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Sooo, uh . . . is this going to be a weekly thing?"

"You like it."

So for the next 5 weeks anyway, it seems our Thursdays will go like this:

• Roro locks herself out of the goddamn apartment
• Emmy tries to eat the pug at dog obedience class
• Katr and I celebrate with take-out from the Trutch St. Swiss Chalet

It's going to be a fabulous summer.

Creampuff's Dog is Not a Crystal Swan

Yes, that's right. Two dog posts in a row. You like it.

We have our first dog obedience class tonight and I can tell by the way Emma's licking herself that she's excited. I think it will be a fitting end to what has already been a VERY confusing day for young Emmy Lou Hairy.

We're trying to get into a routine with her around feeding and walking but for a variety of reasons, that was all shot to hell today and we were wingin' it.

First of all, her foster mom told us that Emma LOVES a ride in the car. Emma has never been in our car before though, and I thought that it might be smart to have a dry run before we try to stuff her in there tonight on the way to class. So Emma and I went down to the parking garage where we spent the better part of a delightful hour getting in and out of the car with the car blanket, without the car blanket, under the car blanket, etc. I think we both had the hang of it by the end. She christened the car by shaking her fur all over it. Katr will be so pleased.

The first dog class is supposed to be dog-free but since we hadn't tried leaving Emma alone too much yet, we asked if we could bring her along. The teacher agreed, hence the practice with the car. But a couple of hours after our fun with the car, I thought I would step outside the apartment for a minute, just to see what the dog did.

She watched me walk over the door and started to follow me as I went through and shut it behind me. I heard her little claws on the tile as she snuffled around the bottom of the door. She didn't bark or whine or paw the door, though, which was great. "Good girl," I thought, encouragingly. After counting to 60, I went to go back in again.

That's when I realized I had locked myself out of our condo.

Ha ha ha. Shitballs.

I double checked my pockets for the things I had been carrying in there earlier in the day that would have been helpful at this juncture: keys, $12, my cellphone. All I had in there was a wadded up paper towel left over from a failed attempt to clean the dog's ears this morning and a half a pork-flavoured DentaStix (no ear cleaning, no treat). Fortunately, I also had one other thing up my sleeve. Katr's number at work, which I miraculously had memorized. Hurray! Hurray for my brain!

Katr's a very patient lass, especially, as it turns out, when it comes to me and this dog. As the Feminist Mafia said of her pooch Nora in the last comments, this dog is kind of kicking my ass and in my attempts to tire her out, I'm tiring myself out and also forgetting to eat and then getting upset and bawling because I'm so hungry and tired and annoyed about how when we're out on the leash, the dog keeps testing me to see who's in charge and it's exhausting (sounds of quiet weeping). Ah ah ah, ladies, hold yourselves back - I'm taken.

I'm sure it was a real treat for Katr to be on the other end of the call I made from the building caretaker's office informing her that I had locked myself out and the dog in. She was very good and hopped on the Skytrain to bring me her keys so that I could rescue the dog I had abandoned. We sat on the platform at the Skytrain for awhile, as I geared myself up to return to our possibly frantic pooch. I wondered what I might find when I opened the door.  Continuous barking? Claw marks of the door? The dog is a defecational prodigy - would she have offered a demonstration on the rug?

The answer, of course, is none of the above. I got back up to our floor and heard some piteous whining coming from behind our door. When I let myself in, Emma greeted me with more whining and some attempted jumping up, but all in all, it was quite civilized. And minutes later, it was as if nothing had ever happened.

So it turns out melle was right. The dog is not a crystal swan. Mistakes have been made, but so far nothing's broken and we'll get this all figured out.

And we'll never go out without the keys again, will we Emma? Will we? Hmm? Will we, girl? No, we won't, will we?

Good dog.

New Dog Runs Creampuffs Ragged

NB: This is a post about our new dog! It's largely dog-related and may go into a little too much detail for the non-dog-lover to give a shit about. I just thought you should know.

As most of you know, I've wanted a dog for nearly 7 years now, ever since I discovered that it was CATS, demon CATS and not dogs that I was allergic to. When I lived with a roommate, getting a dog seemed unwise. When I first shacked up with Katr, our condo building did not allow pets. But when we moved to Vancouver last fall, getting a dog was near the top of my list of priorities.

And this weekend - my doggy dream came true. Meet Emma (whose name will probably change at some point but not now, 'cause we're too stressed out)!

Isn't she the sweetest little Chinese Shar Pei you ever saw? So rumply in the face! Doesn't she look peaceful, all curled up there on the floor, miles away from the nice bed we bought her? Mmmm.

The long yellow thing is a duck. She hates this duck.

Emma is three years old and we got her from the TnT Shar Pei Rescue. These shar pei people - SO NICE. Meeting them - getting the low down on the mighty shar pei breed - having them over so they can make sure we're not crazy jerks - it's all been a great experience. Which brings us to today.

Yeah, I'm not going to lie to you guys - we are nervous wrecks. I have no doubt that our general lack of dog experience and also lack of sleep are the main contributors to our overwraughtness. No matter how many books you read and how many episodes of The Dog Whisperer you watch, nothing really prepares you for being a BIG FREAK when the dog actually materializes and you have to deal with it.

To be fair, it's not like young Emma has done anything super crazy. I mean, she was a barking, whining, door-scratching mess for about 15 minutes after her foster parents left and then she settled into a pattern of checking one balcony, checking the other balcony, checking the door, checking us and starting again. Then, after we took her for a longish walk yesterday, she snoozed the afternoon away. But last night the poor thing kept waking up and barking up a storm, presumably because she was disoriented. She wouldn't sleep in our room and I ended up on the couch in the living room. The wrong move? Probably. But at 2:00 a.m., few alternatives presented themselves. Sigh.

Going into this, we knew that Emma:

• Didn't like dudes - hey, good match!
• Didn't like to hang out outside too much - hey, like us!
• Occasionally barked at the foster mom's loud teenage son - hey, no problem. We have no loud teenage son!
• Is very good around non-teenage boys and is not dog aggressive - hey, sweet!
• Followed her foster mom everywhere - and now she follows me! Good times!
• Doesn't care for toys - reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaally? Who doesn't like toys?? (Hint: our new dog Emma)

All of these things are true, except that she also barks at flies and, once today, at me. Also, her foster parents live in a quiet, suburban area and they said that when they brought her into town, she perked right up. But now I'm wondering if all the city noise (not to mention the fucking loud-speaker-laden DragonBoat Festival on across the street this weekend) isn't just stressing her out. Also, she LOVES cars and tries to climb into every one she sees, whether it's stationary or moving, which, you know - that's not good. At least she really seems to be enjoying licking herself. That's important to a dog.

What's my point? My point is that it's Day Two and we're already losing our shit. We're trying to be calm, assertive pack leaders here, people. And I feel like we've done our best so far to be consistent with our behaviour and still give her space, because shar peis like that. And I'm PRETTY sure I'm just being kind of a sleep-deprived wuss about the occasional barking and whining and that once I've slept, I won't feel like I'm having an anxiety attack. But we are feeling very ill-equipped and unsure how to proceed. Should we walk her more? Less? Keep her on a leash with us all the time? Leave her alone? Will the pot brownie help? After all this excitement, am *I* the one who's not dog-appropriate??

So hey, dog owners and lovers - please, please help us out. Share your new dog settling-in stories and tips!! We thank you - Emma thanks you - and that poor, neglected duck thanks you.

Creampuffs at High Altitude

It was the call you hope you'll never have to make. Even as the phone was ringing, I kept thinking to myself "Surely I am mistaken. Surely I have simply failed to search the room properly. Surely by the time they pick up the phone, I'll have found . . ."

My faux-soothing thoughts were interrupted by "Hello, this is Marina at Royal Service, how may I help you today, Ms. Tr . . . Tr . . . [sounds of brain exploding as Marina tries to figure out how to pronounce Katr's vowel-deprived Croatian last name]."

"Well, Marina," I said, "it's like this. I've lost my . . . bear."

The Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel is a pretty fancy place. It looks like this:

and they take the whole castle thing pretty seriously. Some of the staff wear kilts. A bagpiper announces certain hours of the day. It's so fancy, the bellmen and porters DO NOT ACCEPT TIPS.

The Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel is not the kind of place where you want to admit you travel with stuffed animals. And it's especially not the kind of place where you want to call "Royal Service" to report that Atiqtaq, your Petro-Canada WinterGas-promoting polar bear has gone AWOL. You CAN, because the staff are extremely helpful and friendly. But you don't WANT to.

"She's white," I said, into the Royal Service silence, "a polar bear, with a blue ribbon around her neck. I think she probably just got tangled up in the linens and escaped when housekeeping removed them."

"So the bear was . . . in your bedsheets?"

"Yeah."

More silence. I hoped she was taking notes. I held myself back from crying out "Yes, alright, yes!! We sleep with a bear! A bear and a moose, if you must know! We are nerds, Royal Service!! Nerds!!" 

"She IS a bear," I said, "so in this mountain setting, it's not surprising that she'd make a break for it. Ha ha."

Marina laughed weakly.

The truth is, Atiqtaq's always shown a propensity for exploring. She regularly disappears into various corners of our bedroom at home. And when we take her on trips, it's often a struggle to find her when we're getting ready to leave. She'll show up under the bed or in the minibar trying to get at the Coke. But this was the first time she'd actually escaped.

Katr was at a conference, so I was on my own. As Marina consulted with Housekeeping, I decided to go out and have a look for Atiqtaq myself.

Nothing outside. I thought that it would only be right for me to search the spa next - I mean, she could have been in the coldest of the mineral plunge pools or enjoying the eucalyptus inhalation room. Sure, the $60 spa fee wouldn't look great on our room bill, but I knew Katr would understand. I headed back up to the room to retrieve my investigative bathing suit and the phone rang. It was Jessie, from Housekeeping. And she had found the bear.

About twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door and I beetled over to it to find what looked like the longest-suffering member of the Banff Springs Hotel's housekeeping staff. This man was not in the mood for bear return. He had Atiqtaq gingerly by the foot and he averted his eyes as he held her out to me, like he was handing me my lost foot-long, eight-speed, disco-lit, Donna Summer-playing neon pink vibrator with suction cup base and rotating attachments. "Okayherehaveagoodnight," he muttered and stalked off before I had a chance to thank him. "What was his problem?" laughed Katr, who'd seen the whole thing. I looked down at Atiqtaq. She looked up at me mutely. Keeping her own counsel, as bears do.

We tucked her into our suitcase the next morning for the long drive home, as we couldn't risk her making another bid for freedom in Sicamous or Revelstoke. And when we let her out at home, we told her that she'd better behave if she wanted to accompany us on our next trip to through the mountains in October.

Until then, she'll have to hang out on our balcony. Gazing out towards the distant peaks. Yearning to join her bear brethren.