You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The little puppy that piddles.
Not puddles or pickles, mind you. I’m talking piddling. You know, peeing.
The little Havanese puppy is cuter than a baby panda bear. It’s a ball of fur with legs and a cute little black nose.
The puppy with the sandy colored, amber eyes is learning how to go to the bathroom.
The puppy knows when it has to go, but sometimes he has problems telling us when he has to go.
Sometimes he stares hard at us.
His little furry face contorts and his eyes bug out.
I can only imagine he is telepathically pushing his doggie thoughts at you as if to say “My bladder is full and there is going to be a puppy discharge of excessive fluids if we don’t act quickly, here.”
Sometimes the little dog, that is cute as a stuffed animal, and not much bigger, will give you a little ruff ruff. It sounds like a high-pitched yap that pierces your ear drum. That Yap yap yap is his his way of saying, “hey you My bladder is full and there is good chance that I am going to make wee wee soon.”
Sometimes he runs over to the pee pee pad in the corner and stands at attention. He is a little boy dog but he doesn’t lift his leg. He sort of arches his back and stretches on all fours getting a little ground clearance and then he lets loose.
The absorbent pad turns bright yellow and he prances away like a little Stallion.
My mother loves this dog like a child. She calls the little puppy her son and spoils him like Lady Di spoiled Prince William.
So we went shopping. The little dog is in my mom’s arms. He is quiet and calm, his 6 pounds nestled in the crook of her arm.
I begin trying on boots, Cowboy boots and high grade leather shoes.
I’m in my socks and I’m pulling box after box off the shelf.
Each boot has a different shoe size. Just because I’m a 10 in a sneaker doesn’t mean anything here.
I’m swimming in a 1o cowboy boot, so I pull a 9.5, then a 9.0.
“Wiggle the toe,” the salesman says trying to make a sale.
I am looking at styles and boxes and sizes. I am not looking down.
I should be. The next thing I know I feel moisture on my toes.
What the …
I look down and there is a wet spot on the floor.
I look at the ceiling as if there might be a leak. I look at the garbage can to see if a soda can has turned over.
I look at the bottom of my sock. It is wet.
What the…
While boot shopping I have somehow walked through a puddle of something.
I’m about to alert the salesman when I catch my mother’s eye.
She is clenching her teeth, her eyes wide open, her eye brows furled.
I look at her oddly.
What is going on?
Does she have to use the bathroom? Is she having a seizure?
I feel the moisture wicking into my sock and onto my skin. I sense the salesman pulling more boxes off the shelf placing them at my feet for me to try.
I am about to show my mom the set sock when she shakes her head silently, her eyes bugging, her jaw clenched.
I look a her and wonder if she is ill. Something is wrong.
I am about to speak when I see her point at the ground with her chin, then at the puppy in her arms with her eyes.
It is a silent code, some sort of facial sign language I am not familiar with.
When the boot man turns his back, I lean into her and whisper.
“What’s going on?”
“he piddled on the floor,” she says, holding back laughter.
I lift my foot suddenly. “That’s what this is?”
She is cackling silently as if this is a great big joke.
“I’ve been trying on boot after boot. With a piddle foot?”
Her laughter is more pronounced as she tries to stop.
Just then the salesman arrives.
“here’s a 10,” the salesman says. “Try this and see if it fits.”
I take the boot and hold it up. My mom is laughing quietly, rocking the dog.
He looks at me with those little tan-colored eyes. He seems relaxed.
Why not?
He has a furry face of contentment. He certainly has a bladder that is free and clear of urine
The man hands me another size boot to try on.
I wince.
I don’t want to pretend anything is wrong. Then again I don’t want to put my urine saturated sock into a new boot knowing it will not fit.
What to do? What to do?
I want the boot. I have to check the fit.
I also don’t want to leave a small dog’s vapor trail inside fine Corinthian Leather.
I look at my mom.
She is hiding her face in the dog’s fur.
I put the boot down
I think that’s good, I say
But it’s not good and it doesn’t end there.
Later that night, I’m at my sister’s house. We have just finished dinner. She is showing us all the new clothes she bought for my 9-year-old niece from Macy’s.
Little Levis and frilly tops and shorts.
Really cute stuff.
They still have the tags on them. Both mother and daughter are proudly showing us the great clothes, the great deals, the colors.
The little dog is watching quietly.
Perhaps too quietly.
SUDDENLY.
OMG
“The clothes are wet!” my sister says.
We look down and the little dog is snickering. His little face is turned up in a mischievous smile.
Apparently he has confused the new clothes for his puppy pad and he has relieved himself.
I’m not sure how much urine he has sprayed onto the new clothes, but I’m sure it’s more than the sales people at Macy’s recommend.
My sister is calm, as she begins cleaning the brand new clothes.
My mother is apologetic, saying the dog is sorry and he feels bad.
“I know he does,” my sister says.
I silently laugh.
I’m not sure he feels that bad. He has an empty bladder and what could feel better than urinating on a clump of warm, clean clothes.
Hooray. It is good to be a dog.
It is sad, but humorous.
He is a puppy, a cute little guy.
He didn’t mean to errantly tinkle at will today, but tinkle at will he did.
He will learn to let us know when he has to go out.
Until then, there will be some urine filled growing pains.
life’s crazy™