Friday is landscaping day in my condo complex. It takes the guys pretty much all day to accomplish the task, because there is a lot of ground to cover. First, they ride around on their mowers, then they trim the edges and finally, they clean up the clumps of cut grass that end up on the walkways. The place looks like freaking Shangri-La. They do a fabulous job.
During our poop-and-pee extravaganza this morning, we came across a section of walkway that had a higher than usual concentration of grass clumps on it. I felt a tugging at the end of Dolce's leash and turned to see if she was doing anything I would need to clean up. Nope, she was simply rooted in place.
Now, the thing you have to know about Dolce is that I have yet to plumb the full depths of her neuroses. Seriously, this dog is weird.
She actually belongs to my niece and was named after the design team of Dolce and Gabbana. Dolce came into our lives right around the time my niece discovered fashion, Paris Hilton and The Simple Life. She was certain, right from the start, that the dog simply must be called Dolce. No other name would do. I know. My entire family is somewhat touched in the head. What can I say? We're a small and nutty, yet lovable, bunch. Kind of like Grape-Nuts. I guess. Hell, we're all we've got. What do you want me to do?
Anyway, it turned out that my sister (niece's mom) had taken on more dogs than she could handle, and Dolce had to go. I agreed to be her foster mommy until my niece was old enough to be able to take her back. This means that for the last three years, I've had to manufacture a weak giggle every time someone said to me, "Oh, your dog's name is Dolce? What's the other one called, Gabbana? Hahahaha." Oh my, you are clever! And so very original!
And now, back to our program.
So, I pulled gently on Dolce's leash to let her know it was time to move on. She responded by sitting down. "Come on, baby. Let's go." She put her paw on the leash. She was clearly trying to tell me something. I did a quick mental inventory. No abandoned mine shafts in the neighborhood. Pretty sure no bombs planted nearby. What could it be?
I finally made the connection. She was afraid of the grass on the walkway. I tried reasoning with her.
"Dolce, it's just grass. You walk on it every day. You pee on it. You even do that thing where you try to cover your pee by scraping your back legs on the grass."
She either didn't understand what I was saying, or was unconvinced by my argument.
I tried the take-charge approach.
"Come on, let's go." I turned and walked purposefully. The leash strained and Dolce remained where she was. I looked back at her. She gave me one of these:
By this time, Miles was losing his patience. He put the full force of his 8 pound body into pulling us along. Something had to be done.
Since I didn't have a coat I could gallantly lay on the ground before her, I took the only other option available to me. I carried Dolce. For the entire remainder of our "walk".
Dolce : 1
Mustard : Total Dumbass
