I Am Become Creeper

Empowered by the independent spirit of Holly Golightly and not wanting to go back to my house for obvious puppy-less reasons, I decided to take a walk down Grandview. I didn't get very far when I stopped to watch the far off lightning and gleaming bat signal on the Highmark Building. Then, my ears perked up at an approaching jingling- a dog was coming my way! I looked up and saw a husky, just like my lost love. I tried to contain my excitement and twinge of sadness as they passed by, "Beautiful dog," I exclaimed to the owner, "Huskys are my favorite." I was proud of myself, I kept it relatively normal.

I eventually got bored trying to convince people that the lightning was actually part of The Dark Knight Rises and that Christopher Nolan can control the weather. So with only Kurt Vonnegut by my side, I decided to take a walk to see what the husky pup was up to. I got the entire way down to the Mon incline when I realized what I was doing was slightly creeper so I decided to turn around. I didn't make it four steps before I saw the husky coming straight towards me. I decided to play it cool and nonchalantly walk past. As I was walking, trying to not look at the owner, who I'm sure was staring quizzically at me, I felt a warm tongue and wet nose brush up against my hand. That was it, I had a taste and I wanted more. I turned around and began following the lovable pup once again. It wasn't weird at all. He wanted me. He would have totally left his current owner to be with me. I'm the pretty one! Wait, it was weird. The one ounce of normal in me began sounding alarms as loud as Bono in Heinz Field. So I turned around and ended up wandering about a mile down the street to the statue of George Washington about to make out with Sacagawea No, really....

How romantic...

I was proud of myself- I avoided being a total creeper and I got some exercise... until I saw the same husky puppy come out of the shadow of the statue. After a small shocked expression, I scurried over to one of the rocks and pulled out my book. See? Thinking you're a Disney princess can come in handy sometimes. After I read a few pages and could no longer hear jingling dog tags, I surveyed the area to find there were only two other people in my vicinity. A couple. Talking about their hopes and dreams. With me right next to them reading Cat's Cradle. A satire on the end of the world. It was then I realized- I am become creeper. Destroyer of nights.

The Curious Case of the Sweater Napping

It was a dark and stormy day... at least I think it was? I can't really tell if the sun is shining outside of the fluorescent lit tomb known as the workplace from hell. But "dark and stormy" is more fitting to this story than the actual "hot and humid." So hot and humid, in fact, that I have sworn off wearing pants for over a week. Don't worry, I've just been wearing dresses. Unfortunately, most of the dresses I have are either strapless or have very thin straps and my shoulders are just too darn provocative to show in the store that sells hoochie mama cheetah print hooker dresses to 12 year old girls so I have to wear sweaters to cover them up. One of my favorites is a simple thin white flyaway cardigan with short sleeves. Apparently it was a customer's favorite too....

Greeting customers puts the "hell" in "hello." Every time I acknowledge one of them, I end up with a crazy and this lady was no exception. As I was cleaning out the fitting room, I noticed a middle aged lady who appeared to be in distress. She had a very mom-like appearance so I figured she was safe to approach. I apparently need to work on my people skills because boy was I wrong. I asked if she needed any help and she said that she lost her sweater (note she was NOT wearing any provocative shoulder-baring clothing. And the heat index was 107 that day) I told her that I would help look for it and headed for the fitting room, which is where she last saw it. The sweater was nowhere to be found. Then, she must have noticed that I was wearing a white sweater and asked where I got it. Once again, I made a stupid mistake on my part and told her I got it at the store last year. I thought she just might want to replace her lost beloved sweater because that's what any normal person would do. But this lady wasn't a normal person, she was an MC Nickels customer. She then accused me of taking a sweater I found in the fitting room. Because that's what I do all day, find other people's clothing in the fitting room and claim them as my own.... and wear them. I explained to her that I actually found it in my closet at home that day and wore it to cover up my provocative shoulders. She stared at me suspiciously and left her name and phone number in case the sweater was found.

Well, waddayaknow. The next day I was folding a table and found her freaking sweater. I couldn't help but compare it to mine (which I was still wearing that day- shoulders are just too erotic for the store that sells push up bathing suit tops). Her's was a long sleeved sweater with three buttons... it looked nothing like mine. I found the paper with her phone number and made the call, feeling very justified that I could prove to this lady I did not steal her sweater. Unfortunately, when she answered she was on her way to Cleveland. But she still wanted that damn sweater for the chilly 100 degree weather and asked if we could ship it to her. After a long pause in disbelief, I replied no and told her it would be waiting at the lost and found. And this brings the curious case of the sweater napping to a close.

Alfred Hithcock Was Right About Birds

Contrary to what I believed my past 24 (dear Lord) years of my life, I actually do have a lot of trouble sleeping alone. And contrary to what a lot of people believe about me, I don't have crazy one night stands or wild fornication parties. That's only on Tuesday nights to fill the void left by Lost. Yup, I'm *that* kind of needy girl. Except my significant other is a dog. So I sit in my room, listening to the soothing sounds of Three's Company until the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, this doesn't lend well to the "customer service industry" and my Keurig only holds so much power.

As you might have guessed, I'm a dog person. Actually, an animal person. I love all God's creatures. Except for birds because those were sent by the goddamn devil himself. Yes, I realize they evolved from dinosaurs, but they should have just stayed the way they were. I don't hate all birds... cardinals do have a pretty sweet mohawk and sparrows make me feel like a Disney princess... as long as they don't get too close. I've started to realize that a lot of the female customers that walk into the hellhole are a lot like the birds that I so despise. They are either short, stout and walk somewhat bow legged appearing chicken-like or long and lean, strutting like an ostrich. The worst is when they're none of the above and just believe that they are a beautiful peacock who deserves to be waited on hand and foot.... even though the males are the pretty ones, but you get my gist. The one thing all these birds have in common is their squawking. I truly believe that these women work at having such shrill voices. It's like it's a contest or something and they just keep getting louder. Or I have built up my caffeine tolerance and need to add a cup or two of coffee to my daily routine so I'll be able to stand these biddies.

So with the bird analogy in my mind and a coffee mug in hand, I entered the hell hole today with a less than friendly demeanor. I felt like I was Tippi Hedron on a boat heading straight to Bodega Bay. Then, one customer gave me bad flashbacks of being chased by chickens on my uncle's farm. It all started when I pulled a cart out the fitting room, she strutted over like it was feeding time. Now, all of the items on this cart were plentiful in the rest of the store, but she had to pick at this cart. While my supervisor sat there watching me and the cart expectantly. I was not going to take the "feed" away from this lady, in fear of getting pecked by her beak... or worse, hear her squawking. So I patiently waited till she was done and I went on my merry way, putting the rest of the clothes away. Then, about 10 minutes later, I hear a chirping behind me that sounded like "Cart.... caaaart." I looked around for a manager or another associate, since I assumed those would be the only other people discussing a cart, but didn't see any. Then the chirping turned into a loud screeching "CAAAAAAART!" I turned and saw the chicken lady running towards me, bingo wings flapping in the wind with a few items in her hand. She had followed me to the other side of the store because she got the items on the silver cart I had in tow. She handed me the clothes and I went through them to discover they were all dresses that belonged in the area where she tried them on and there were numerous other silver racks. I guess she must have had her homing device set to mine. Lucky me. And I didn't even have any bread to give her.

Baby, I'm howlin' for you.... oooh, this is awkward. I wanted a dog, not you..

As I've been continuing down my life path on my own, it feels more and more like I'm just being attacked by the village idiots. I know I said the previous post that I would try to look the other way, but I think even Keyta would have agreed that the annoyance towards stupid people runs so deep that they're eating authentic Chinese food.

While I walk down the street, now struggling to make it up the hills, I feel like a woman near her "change of life" does towards babies. Except with dogs. When I see other people walking their dog, I just want to grab it, run and call it my own. So that's how I was a bit distracted and found myself in an unwanted "Situation." Yes, as in the Jersey Shore man.

As I was walking, I noticed a person walking a dog across the street. I stared longingly in her direction, eyes focused solely on the dog, hoping it run across the street and jump into my arms. Well, I did attract a dog...of the male human form. I suppose the dude that was walking behind the dog must have thought I was staring at him because he walked across the street and cut right in front of me. And took his freaking shirt off. And began flexing his muscles for crying out loud. I suppose this would have worked if I were a chimpanzee. However, I usually don't just take my pants off and have at it after seeing such a spectacle of male bravado. He would have to have a good personality and at least be able to answer some of the questions on "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader." I feel like young Schwarzenegger sensed my hesitation, so he took a step aside and let me pass him. I thought I had left him in my dust, but then I felt a presence and heard a mumbling behind me. Note, I had my "don't talk to me" headphones on and was NOT doing the "fist pump" mating dance. I glanced behind me and saw I had not lost the Jersey Shore wannabe. I'm not sure if he wanted to talk about his shirt that he recently purchased at Baby Gap or if he needed directions to the Monongahela Shore, but I didn't really care. If he could make a spectacle of taking his shirt off, I could put on a great show of taking out my ipod and turning up the volume full blast. And when the song says "Baby, I'm howlin' for you," I'm thinking of an actual dog, not a meathead with a six pack, thank you very much.

Screw Diamonds. Dogs Are a Girl's Best Friend.

They say dogs are a man's best friend. I would like to contest that statement and say they are a girl's best friend too. They're the exercise buddy who makes you go outside to walk or run- even if you just want to sit around all day. They're the friend who is content to just sit and listen to you bitch (pun intended) while eating bon bons. And more bon bons for you since dogs can't have chocolate. And you know that creeper a few houses down? Who needs a bare-chested, hulky boyfriend when you have a little furry friend who would go to the ends of the earth to protect you, even if it is just a little ankle biter. Dogs are your constant companion, protector and best friend. Which is why yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life.

I've been around dogs all my life. Before I was even born, my parents had a dog named Taco- this is how "taco" became the second word I ever said. She was my "nanny dog." My parents were concerned how the furry baby of the family would react when they brought home a new crying bundle of joy, but she loved me and treated me like one of her own puppies. There is not one picture of me as a child without Taco in it (or maybe she was just a camera hog). She is the one who invoked in me a love for animals. Even in her old age, she was always there for me. Once she got to be too old to walk from room to room at night, she stayed in mine because in her mind, I was still her little puppy.

Then came Sadie. She's a brat. But I love her anyway. I have never known a more neurotic dog. She's scared of fireworks, bugs, loud noises and Lord knows what else, but she looks like an absolute hell dog when she's hiding and you lift up the couch cover to stare into her glowing red eyes and bared teeth (or lack thereof). She's an insane little ankle biter (with no teeth), but she's hilarious. She a snoop that spies on the neighbors, only likes Dairy Queen ice cream (yes, she can tell the difference), and understands more words than any dog should. No matter what, she makes me laugh. Unfortunately, she was too neurotic to take to Pittsburgh with me when I got my own house so that brings me to...

Keyta. She was the first dog that I got from the shelter. She was my pound puppy. The first night my roommate and I had her, it was obvious she was quite the character. As soon as she came home, we gave her a bath... probably not the best first impression considering that she hated water. But she must have liked the end result because she couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror. It wasn't an "OMG! Another dog!" look, more of a stoic stare-down of "Ooooh yeah, look at me." My roommate and I were rather nervous that first night. Here was a dog who was ripped away from everything it knew and thrust into our home. How would she react? Calmly. She stayed in my roommate's room for the night and just slept the entire night. It was like she knew she had a home now... well, kinda. The next day she ran away. My roommate's boyfriend was staying with us at the time and when he went to let her out, she bolted. Maybe she didn't like us so much after all. But we got her back and had many more misadventures after that...

She created her own super alter-ego, known as "Roof Dog...." Ok, so she would just climb out onto the roof of the porch while I was at work. The only reason why I caught her is I was watching my friend's cat and had to keep the two separate so I had Keyta locked in the spare room. But when I went to let her out, she was nowhere to be found. Then, I saw a little nose poking through the window. I walked over to see the damn dog standing there, stupid grin and all. The stupid grin that inspired her costume for Halloween... the Joker. She also went as the Smoke Monster. She didn't seem to mind much. In fact, I think she kind of liked the attention.

She ran away a few other times. Mostly for my roommates. Or the poor people I coerced into watching her. Only once for me. It was on Mother's Day. I had just got done taking her for a nice long walk and was heading out the door. My friend was to check on her during the day while I was spending time with mother dear. I prepared a few things in the kitchen and heard the screen door open and shut. Strange. She wasn't supposed to come check on Keyta till later. Then I looked in the living room and the damn dog ran away. As I bolted down the street after her, I noticed that she would always look back to make sure she had me in her sight. So I slowed down a bit, but still screaming to people to try to catch her, in fear she would get hit by a car. Luckily, a nice lady with her two grandchildren answered my plea and helped me wrangle the mutt. She even drove us back to my house. So, thanks to Keyta, I was a little late going home that Mother's Day and a little more out of breath... and gross and sweaty.

She was a carb whore. Quite often she would break into the kitchen and only eat a loaf of bread. An entire loaf. She hated vegetables though. Of any kind. I've never seen a dog make a face of complete disgust when offered a piece of lettuce. Because I'm sure the stuffing in toys tastes so much better. She never touched my stuffed animals. I don't know how she knew they were off limits. So Eeyore, Wall E and Pluto remained safe on my floor.

After all of that, she sounds like a little devil dog. But she wasn't. She was my first dog on my own and she taught me so much. See, she wasn't just a pound puppy. Before we had her, she was abused, neglected and taken out of someone's house. Note I use the term "house," not "home." You think that she would hold a grudge against the human race and swear an oath to take revenge. But she didn't. As far as I could tell, she loved us unconditionally. As one who is quick to react and long to hold a grudge, it made me step back and look at myself. She taught me to be more forgiving. If this dog could bounce back from an awful existence to love a person again, surely I could let a few snide comments or sideways glances go.

To help with the running away, I used to tell her to "go home" as soon as we neared the house. And she would get excited and pull on the leash, proud she knew where she was, and bound up the stairs into the house to lap up some water or grab a tennis ball to continue the play day. I called her "Keyta Cat" because she would pounce on the tennis ball and bat it around like a cat. She was quite the character. And she was mine.

When I took her to the vet Friday, I had a sinking feeling it would not end well. But I just wanted a little bit of hope. If not for her, for me. I know it was selfish, but I wanted to at least try. Then when I saw her yesterday, I knew she wasn't my Keyta Cat anymore. All she wanted to do was run and play, but she was too sick and weak. I could see it in her eyes, she knew it was time. I think she knew it was time when I took her in- even though she was very weak, she just pulled towards me. The vets wouldn't tell me everything because they knew I was too upset. But I gave them permission to tell my father. He said they didn't think she would make it through Tuesday. But they kept telling her I would be there in the morning so she fought through the night. Maybe the dog who was always trying to run away loved me after all.

Without her, my house is empty. Note I use the term "house," not home. The creaks are more menacing than welcoming, knowing a happy husky isn't bounding down the stairs to greet me. There's a strange echo I never noticed before. And it's just so... quiet. There are still small pieces of her around. A bowl here, a toy there. I haven't the heart to pick them up yet. And thanks to the ridiculous amount of shedding every season, I'll never be able to get all her hair out of my house... or her out of my heart.

Goodbye, Keyta. I'll miss you so much, buddy.