Wednesday, May 21st, 2008
I’ve never been good with dogs. We had kind of a crazy mutt when I was younger and I think I’m scarred from the experience. There was no newspaper boy left un-traumatized, no shoe left unchewed and he once dragged me face down through a puddle of mud – but that’s a whole other story.
So, when I lived in New York and my friend Kumah said she was getting a dog, I was a little apprehensive. I knew that the pooch would be hanging out with us and I immediately felt the need to hide all my shoes.
When she picked up the pooch, she called me so she could introduce me to her new four-legged friend. Cuba, as we named him, was actually kind of cute. He was a crazy cocker spaniel, a little snappy, a lot over excited, but cute.
One day, Kumah tells me she’s going back to London for a week and could I look after Cuba? Sure, I say. I figured I’d been around him enough at that point to be able to handle a bit of dog sitting. Hell, it might even help me to get over my dog issues.
Kumah brought Cuba over on a Thursday afternoon. Upon arriving at my apartment, the mutt got so excited, he promptly squatted and peed on my floor. (Cuba wasn’t the most manly of dogs. He favored squatting over that unsightly leg lift.) Kumah left and would be catching her plane to London on Friday evening. From the second the door closed behind her, Cuba started acting a fool.
Firstly, if I moved so much as a finger, Cuba was on my ass. I couldn’t walk around the apartment, go to the bathroom, make a phone call without Cuba being right there, jumping around excitedly. I made the mistake of getting his toy for him to play with. I hadn’t realised I was actually starting a never ending game of fetch that would make me want to take my own life. He was some kind of Super Pup that just didn’t get tired no matter how much physical activity you threw at him.
When it came time for me to go to bed, it took me an age to get Cuba to stay in the living room. Apparently, he wasn’t pleased that he was unwelcome in my bed. I closed my bedroom door and listened as he ran laps around my apartment . He was driving me nuts. I became convinced that Kumah had fed him Ecstasy tablets before bringing him to my place.
Eventually, utterly frustrated, I got up to open my door and let him sleep on my bedroom floor if it would just stop his endless marathon. I flung the door open to see Cuba sitting calmly, with a sort of ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look on his furry face. I didn’t trust it. I walked slowly around the apartment to find that he had pissed and shit wherever possible. I believe the sign of a true friend is when she will pick your dog’s feces off her kitchen floor – and by this measure, I’m basically the best friend you could ever wish to have.
Needless to say, Cuba and I were not friends. After his shitty protest to being left out of my bedroom, he spent the rest of the night all smug with himself after I caved and let him in.
In the morning, I had to call in sick to work because there was no way I was leaving this animal to his own devices in my apartment all day. There wasn’t a moment during that day that Cuba didn’t piss me off. I couldn’t even eat because he would pounce on me the second he smelled food. He, on the other hand, had been chowing down on doggie treats like there was no tomorrow.
I took him out for a quick walk in the morning and he tried to attack a group of school children. A great start to my day. This bastard was a law suit waiting to happen!
As I sat, starving for most of the day, trying to figure out ways to sneak myself bits of food without Cuba noticing, it dawned on me that there’s no way I could be held captive by this dog for a week. Even though I’d taken him out for a walk, he decided to wait till we got home to relieve himself, once again, on the floor in my apartment. There were no lamp posts or grassy areas in my pad, so I’m not sure why indoor vs outdoor was such a struggle for him.
It was early afternoon when I put my SOS call in to Kumah. ‘Kumah! You’ve gotta pick this mutt up! I can’t do this! Yes I realize you’re about to get on a plane, but I’m telling you, he has to be out of my house pronto!’ Luckily the guy she was dating, who was a dog lover, agreed to take him. I just had to wait for him to finish work and drive from Brooklyn up to my Harlem apartment.
To kill the time, I thought I’d take Cuba on a very long walk, in an attempt to wear him out. We walked from 114th street up to 135th and back again. I figured somewhere around 125th I’d be able to buy a tranquilizer dart on the low to knock that bitch out. Sadly, no such luck. He continued to lunge at passersby, growling, barking and scaring the shit out of them. ‘He’s not even a real dog,’ I’d say. ‘He squats when he pees for Christ’s sake!’
By the time we returned from our walk half way around New York, Kumah’s night in shining armor was waiting outside to relieve me of my duties. I did a rain dance, the Hammer dance and prayed to Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Allah in thanks.
So, when you go on vacation, don’t even think about asking me to look after so much as your fruit fly. It just ain’t happening.
Tags: dogs, new york
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