This is how my dog, Mingus Rude, enjoys New Orleans: she somehow maneuvers her way onto the cushiony areas of our house while convincing unsuspecting humans to sleep on the hard floor. That passed out fella there is my brother, here last week to help move his sister to New Orleans, and now all the way back in Illinois.
Our third day here Mingus got stung by something in our backyard, something quick, buzzing, and near the pretty vined flowers that grow along our fence (I know little about greenery other than how to kill it without trying. I need to work on that here so that I can actually know what I’m admiring all over the city). I’m guessing a bee, but she swears it was a Godzilla-sized stinger-wielding monster that tried to take her out when we weren’t looking. Her droopy eyes swelled almost shut and she broke out in hives like red, raw zebra stripes all down her body. A few frantic calls to our vet back north, an emergency vet here, and a trip to the dollar store for Benedryl, and Mingus Rude was fixed right up. Not according to her though. She insisted that the trauma she’d endured warranted breaking a long-standing rule in our house: no Mingus Rude on the bed. So much for that. Now I’m sharing a bed with an exhausted, (newly) snoring Mike, a hostile cat who stays awake all night mean-mugging MIngus, and a bed hogging, whimpering, snoring 70 lb stink monster.
Despite her 70 lbs and her bark like a hell hound, loud noises scare Mingus. The fouth of July is one long Nam flashback for her. She’s been running from the back door to the front “huffing” at the other dogs in the neighborhood, the trucks that slam into our potholes, the laughing, screeching Gummo children on our block (if you’ve seen that movie, I got the two little crazy, gun-toting cowboys living down the street from me, times five). She keeps looking at me, and while she can speak almost fluent English, I have no clue what the fuck she is saying in dog. I think it’s something like, “What is all this shit?” Or, “It’s fucking hot.” Probably the latter since she overheats in ten minutes if we take her out before the sun falls.
The one bright spot for MIngus down here? A bright, happy six-year-old little girl next door who asks her mom every time they arrive home, “Where’s Mingus?” Mingus is always sitting at our front window, her nose pressed against the glass, and her tiny nub of a tail wagging so hard it shakes her whole butt on the slick hardwood floor. When she sees Jade she forgets how hot it is, how much she hates fire ants, how she misses the snow (she’s the only one in the family with that issue), and she sits quivering with excitement so that Jade can pet her back without feeling too scared. Those moments New Orleans is like a little bit of heaven for Mingus.
What a big ol’ baby dog! She looks like a happy camper on her couch. And I DO KNOW it’s hers.
I miss Mingus…and the girls miss Mingus too!
I am sure you are aware of my feelings for large dogs. Nuff said.
Amazing what noises do to dogs and cats. How did these species ever survive in the wild? My childhood German shepherd would hide under the bed whenever it rained. Didn’t even need thunder or lightning but those or fireworks would leave her shaking.
Rom- You are still the one and original cyber-stalker-blog-bestest friend. Promise. I’m not sure what “more bloggy” means, but I’m guessing less confessional and less about personal details. I went public. So many people who know real life me found my blog, plus with the teaching, I started to get a little uncomfortable with what all was on the old one… crap I wouldn’t even remember writing. For depressing, personal, emotionally crippled rants, we’ll just have to exchange myspace emails. And you would love my dog. It’s hard not to. She would hide behind me and peek out at you until she decided you smelled harmless… wait, which probably wouldn’t happen. Yes, fear her, Romius, fear her!
Liprap–It’s totally hers. There used to be a rule in the house about a big stank ass dog on the furniture; I’m not sure what happened to that rule. Something about Mingus doing whatever she wants whenever she wants. She wields those puppy dog eyes like death rays.
Rob–I was thinking about her living in the wild the other day when I was slathering anti-itch cream all over her paws for allergies and putting ointment on her pits that chafe in the heat. She wouldn’t have survivied in the wild. I thought I was just spoiling her into being a big baby. Maybe she and your childhood shepherd are just fearful babies by nature.
Slanky–You know she misses you too. When her feet are twitching and her lips are trembling with whimpers I know her dreams of running through fields of wild flowers to jump into your arms.
That photo of Mingus nicely shows off her squishy, floppy cheekies. They make me want to cuddle her and make ridiculous, coo-ing faces at her. As for the rule about dogs on furniture, how could the rule stick when breaking it results in such a contented puppy?
Em–You totally get her. That’s why she liked you so much. The couch wasn’t bad; I don’t mind sitting on the floor. But the bed! She takes up a lot of space. I end up fighting her for a blanket all night.