Sunday, March 6, 2011

Doggy Dayze

For some strange reason, my mom loves bulldogs.  She manages to get her hands on a new one every time she smothers one to death.  I suppose it makes sense because bulldogs have a face only a mother could love.  They were beaten with the cat o'nine tail centuries ago and the "flogged in the face" look remained a trait in their genes.  Also due to generations of inbreeding, they are inherently the down syndrome breed of dogs.  There are several other reasons why these dogs are abominable.  They snort instead of snore in their sleep, have sleep apnea, throw up when they get excited, blow bubbles out of all orifices, and the list goes on and on.  Secretly, I think my mom chose a bulldog as her buddy because it was the only thing so ugly it couldn't compete with her for men.

But my mom tried to boost the ugly dog's confidence.  Much like a girl tries to boost the confidence of her big fat best friend (aka 'BFBF') and tell her, "It's the beauty on the inside that counts."  My mom even named her "Beauty." 

She dressed her up in all kinds of fashions and costumes.  Wigs, formal gowns, Green Bay Packers cheerleading outfits, you name it!  My mom would go to the thrift stores and buy toddler and children's clothing and alter it to fit her pooch.  She also joined a bulldog club, where her friends and her would have a sanctioned event to bring their costumed dogs to.  The parties always had themes.  Of course Halloween was always an extravaganza.  One year my mom dressed up as Cinderella, and her dog went as her fairy godmother, coned dunce hat with ribbon streamers and all.  Another year her dog was too sick to attend, but my mother dressed her up and drug her along anyway. It was like us kids being dressed us up like dolls and drug to church in sickness and in health, rain or shine, even if on our death bed, all over again.

Other common celebrations are gala birthday parties for their dog's sweet sixteen. For this, the dog owners, or parents, as they preferred to be called, even post their dog's professional glamor shots, larger than life sized, all over the walls.  There's cake, pin the tail on the donkey, awards, carnivals; it's like the circus has come to town.  It's all about keeping up with the Jones's where one parent is constantly trying to outdo the last.

One day I was on the phone with my mom, and I couldn't help but pull my ear away from the speaker as she was scolding her dog.  My mom said to me, "She's throwing a fit.  She wants to wear the dress I just bought her, but I told her she had to wait because I need to alter it.  I told her it's a child's dress, but she wants to wear it now."

At that point, I could no longer bite my tongue at my mother's ludicrousness and flapdoodle and I uttered out, "Mom, you can put lipstick on a pig and call it whatever you want.  But it's still a pig....and it has lipstick on it."  Then I regretted those very words because she followed it up by exclaiming, "Oh, how clever!  I never thought about putting lipstick on Beauty!"

A couple months later, my mom couldn't find a babysitter for Beauty, so she schlepped the dog along for a ride across the state.  When my mom arrived to her destination, she informed the dog, and notified it to get out, stretch her stumps and use the potty.  The dog wouldn't listen, so my mother began scolding it.  My mom became vexed at the dog's disobedience.  Then she noticed a bubble coming out of Beauty's nose, and it seemed as if the dog was passing gas.
    "This is not the time to be farting around, Beauty." My mom asserted.

Then my mother realized the dog was not responding.  She was out cold, not breathing.  My mom attempted CPR, but couldn't remember what the ABC's and the CPR's stood for.  She also didn't have a one-way valve/non-rebreather. She rushed Beauty to the vet, where she was pronounced dead of a broken heart, or something like that.  At least that's what my mother told me.

Beauty had a nice burial and ceremony.  Unfortunately, most of her doggy friends could not attend across the state on such short notice.  But when my mom got home, they threw a formal event in Beauty's honor.  However, my mother insisted that no one wear black, because that's not what Beauty would've wanted. 

This tragic event brought transcendence to my mom.  She realized she could not bare the pain of losing another dog again.  So she put her "doggy dayze" to rest.  And may they R.I.P.

No comments:

Post a Comment