Naptime

Hi, I'm Lola. Obviously, everything within my reach belongs to me. Including this pet bed. Once upon a time it belonged to Lottie. Later it came to Austin to belong to Banzai. But now it's mine.


Yeah, so I have a frog in my mouth. So what? You wanna make something of it? Huh? Huh?

With Apologies to Jeff

Today I had dinner with a dear friend of mine, who I will not identify, except to say that he really needs to update his blog, and his name is Jeff.

And on the way over to the restaurant, I thought about how they don't allow dogs on their patio. I was thinking about this because every time I leave the apartment without her, Lola does this on the glass patio door:


The picture truly does not do it justice. It ought to be a video, so that you can see her frantically scrabbling her front paws against the door. Her paws go takka-takka-takka-takka-takka-takka on the glass, and I swear, one day I'm going to come back and find claw-shaped gouges in the door, at exactly her height.

Last time Jeff and I had dinner at this restaurant, I called ahead and asked if they allow dogs on their patio. They don't. At dinner, I asked our waiter why not (and that's a story in and of itself). However, in the course of the conversation, he did mention that sometimes people sit on the patio, at a table next to the wrought-iron fence, and their dog sits on the other side of the fence.

On the other side of the fence? Excuse me? What if she needs some water? What if she needs me to scratch her ears? What if she needs tummy rubbles? The very idea is repellent. I am not going to treat my dog like a second-class citizen. If Lola can't sit on my lap, I'm not bringing her.

So as I drove to meet Jeff at the restaurant, I couldn't help but indulge in this little fantasy:

(Lola and I sit down at a table by the fence. Lola is, of course, well-behaved and adorable.)

Waiter: I'm sorry, you can't bring a dog in here.

Me (giving him a withering glare): Excuse me?

Waiter: I'm sorry. We don't allow dogs.

Me: And why's that?

Waiter: Sorry, I don't know. It's just the policy.

Me: Oh? Oh, it's the policy. I'm sorry, I thought you had a rational reason for not allowing my small and well-behaved dog to sit under my chair for the next hour.

Waiter: I'm sorry, ma'am, but you can't have the dog in here. If you want, you can have her on the other side of the fence.

Me (standing up with scornful dignity): I'm sorry, young man, are you suggesting that I enjoy a meal and a few drinks while my dog waits on the other side of the fence?

Waiter: Um. Yes?

Me: And this is -- let us be perfectly clear -- not because of any particular reason, but because of your policy?

Waiter: Look, lady, I don't make the rules...

Me: Are you aware that we are in Austin?

Waiter: Geez, lady...

Me: Ladies and gentlemen! (I stand on my chair and tap a wine-glass with a fork.) I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I must ask -- are any of you allergic to dogs?

(The crowd looks at each other in confusion.)

Me: Are any of you frightened of dogs?

(A few calls of "No" and "No way" from the crowd.)

Me: Ladies and gentlemen, humans of all races and creeds, I would like to introduce you to -- Lola! (I hold Lola aloft. She charms the crowd with adorableness. There are a few scattered cheers.)

Me: My friends (really warming up to the John-McCain-Town-Hall vibe now), my friends, this is Lola. A few short months ago, Lola was lost and alone. No one loved her. Her own family allowed her eye to become so infected that the SPCA had to surgically remove it!

(A few boos, one guy shouts "Let's lynch 'em!")

Me: No, no, we don't need any of that. We're running a clean campaign here. But I just want you to take a good look at Lola. She's loved, she's well-fed, she's healthy. And she is so grateful to have a good home. She's nothing but loving and kind. She's no trouble at all.

(Pause for dramatic effect. A few of the women go, "aww.")

Me: And now, these corporate big-wigs want to make Lola stay outside the fence. Can you believe it? This small, inoffensive dog, who has been through so much in her short life, and she has to stay outside. Not because of any particular reason. Not because the owner dislikes dogs. But just because of policy. Ladies and gentlemen, it's time to take a second look at our policies. I saw Lola's mother die while she fought with the insurance companies to try to prove that her cancer wasn't a pre-existing condition, and that was because of policy. Not for any real reason, no -- in fact, my friends, no one here can give us a single real reason. It's because of policy. It's because that's the way it is. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of following the meaningless rules that other people set for us! I'm tired of letting the corporate fat-cats boss us around! It is time for some change! Change we can believe in!

(The crowd goes wild, they're all applauding, half of them are on their feet. A few of them give a wolf-whistle at me, which I acknowledge with a wink.)

Me: Ladies and gentlemen, we can't put up with this kind of obsolete regulation any more. We need more oversight of these corporations so they can't play merry hell with our stock market like the last two weeks. It's time for a full-on, grand-scale reworking of how we do things around here. We've had eight years of dogs not being allowed on this patio -- we don't need another four!

(The crowd is beside themselves now, throwing confetti, popping champagne, throwing their panties at me.)

Me: If you believe, as I do, that we can truly change America for the better, then you know what to do. Change starts at home. It might not be fun. It might not be easy. But we should all bring our dogs to restaurants with patios, and refuse to put them outside the fence!!!

(Massive cheers and hoopla.)

Me: And if those corporate big-wigs try to tell you about the rules, you just tell them this: look, buddy, George Washington didn't freeze his ass off in Valley Forge for us to sit around arguing over whether my lapdog can be in my lap, or two feet away from me!!!

(More cheering. A few girls chant, all together, "We love you, Lola!")

Me: Black and white, Sunni and Shiite, Christian Scientist and Pentecostal -- we all need to come together, now! It's time to stop the hate! Let's make the world a better place!

(A few more cheers.)

Me: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I'll be sitting down now, to enjoy my sake bomber and california roll. AND LOLA WILL BE ON MY LAP!!!

(The crowd is going insane. I sit down demurely, smooth down my skirt, set Lola on my lap, and smile at the waiter.)

Me: I'm sorry, you were saying?

The Perfect Hot Dog

Ellie has been wowing the internet with her incredibly detailed and thoughtful posts on recipes for everything from chili (in all its variations) to fig tarts.

Me, I'm happy when things don't explode in the microwave.

But tonight, I simply have to share my recipe for The Perfect Hotdog, probably better known as The Hot Dog For Poor Austinites.

Ingredients:
One slice from a loaf of 99 cent HEB wheat bread (what are we, rich?)
One "Smart Dog" brand vegetarian hot dog made of seasoned tofu (what are we, omnivores?)
One slice of Kraft American Cheese, which tastes like plastic, and which we are guilty about buying (what are we, pro-big-corporations?)

Directions:
- Set oven to Broil. Move assorted plastic grocery bags off the range, where they have been dumped, so they don't melt into the top of the oven.
- Arrange the tofu dog diagonally on the slice of bread, then top with the slice of cheese.
- Wait a few minutes for the oven to heat up. Occupy this time with a glass of wine.
- Put the layered bread/hotdog/cheese concoction on the middle shelf of the oven.
- Go start another episode of 30 Rock on Netflix.
- Suddenly remember about the hot dog when you can smell it burning.
- Frantically look for oven mitt amongst the non-melting grocery bags. Turn off oven. Find oven mitt and pull the middle oven shelf out. Burn right forearm on the oven door.
- Look in fridge for ketchup. Curse self for not buying ketchup when at the grocery store yesterday.
- Consider what the essential element of ketchup is. Decide that essential element is salt. Notice a bottle of soy sauce.
- Splash soy sauce over the tofu-dog-on-cheap-bread-covered-in-cheap-cheese.
- Enjoy.

No, really, enjoy. It's actually pretty awesome. I might just make myself another.

The Menagerie Takes a Trip

Earlier this week, we had to take both Banzai and Lola over to Lola's Daddy's house.

Lola, being a dog, travels in the car much better than Banzai does. So the concept was that Lola's Daddy would have Lola on his lap, and I'd have Banzai on my lap.

That concept didn't last very long.

What the menagerie wanted, apparently, was for Lola to be on my lap, gazing adoringly at me, while Banzai was also on my lap, gazing anxiously out the window.


You'll notice that Lola keeps pretty much the same position through these photos, while Banzai is all over the place. And this is for a trip that's just barely over a mile.


Yeah, I guess the animals don't really have a problem with each other.


Although by this point Banzai was yowling. He's really not a fan of being in the car.


But hey, look -- peaceful co-existence.


Lola's Daddy had been taking these photos at stoplights. (Secretly I think he was a bit miffed that neither of the animals wanted to sit on his lap.)

At the end of the trip, I said, "This will make a great blog post."

And he said, "Hon, that's great, but some of those photos are all about your boobs."

Shamelessly Self-Indulgent Close-Up Photos

Getting photos of Lola can be hard. I know, I know -- you're all thinking, "My goodness, JJ, the photos you post to this blog are so pristine, so artistic, so amazing, surely Lola is just the most photogenic dog in the world!"

Well, I'm sorry to say it, but you're wrong. Lola is practically allergic to the camera. She'll be lying there, fast asleep, looking all adorable, and I'll grab the camera and turn it on. And as soon as it goes "Boodely-ding!" she instantly comes over to sniff the camera lens.

The other day she was sitting on my lap, and I had the camera to hand, and I actually managed to get a few shots.

Profile, complete with hair-bow after being groomed:


Mournful sideways-look.


Full-on look of, "What? What? Stop making fun of me for having this stupid hairbow in!"


And then finally, "Oh, hey, it's the camera! Camera camera camera! I MUST COME SNIFF YOU."

Sloppies

Rawhide is a tricky thing.

Firstly, there's the health issue. There are plenty of people think that rawhide chews are very bad for dogs and also make them throw up. Lola hasn't seemed to be badly affected by them, but it's something to keep in mind.

Secondly, there's the gross-out factor. Regular, cheap rawhide rapidly disintegrates into a disgusting, smelly white mush. This is why Lottie's parents call them "sloppies." This is also why Lottie doesn't get rawhide treats any more. Better-quality compressed rawhide is a bit less nasty, but not by much.

Thirdly, there's the animal-rights angle. I'm vegetarian; hell, I was even vegan for a year. And rawhide is, indisputably, compressed dried animal skin. And even though it doesn't make much sense intellectually, emotionally, there's a difference between giving your dog animal-based food out of a can and giving your dog animal skin to enthusiastically gnaw on.

All of this is a very round-about way of saying that I gave Lola a compressed rawhide bone tonight. I've only let her chew on one once before, a few months ago, when I hadn't had her for very long and her habits with treats were much more protective and anxiety-driven. She seemed to enjoy it, but wasn't obsessed, and I was worried about the health issues and took it away after ten minutes or so.

So far tonight, Lola has chewed on this particular rawhide bone constantly. Without stopping. For over ninety-two minutes. I knelt down beside her, to see how much headway she had made on devouring the bone, and she gave a small growl and darted under the bed. With the bone in her mouth, of course.

I bet she throws up later tonight. This is what I get for feeling guilty about being at work all day.

P.S.: She moved! I was able to see the bone! All the crunching sounds completely overrated her progress. One end is slightly gnawed off, that's all. Wuss.

P.P.S.: Still, I don't fancy my chances of taking it away from her. This is a girl on a mission.

Lola's Favorite Toy

I have tried to give her other, similar toys, but what Lola loves beyond reason is this horrifically neon-green frog. She plays fetch with it, chews on it constantly, and often falls asleep with her teeth firmly embedded in its fuzzy skin.


But as this photo makes clear, Froggy is having some back problems.


So Froggy and Teddy got taken to the operating table today.


Teddy, nearing the end of his operation.


The happy patients, fully recovered. I sewed them up with nylon thread. We'll see how long it lasts.