Dog owners are different than cat owners.
Every dog owner will make you painfully aware of that fact.
They say, "Well, we've had 'Cerberus' for 3 years, 6 months, 2 weeks, 10 days, 12 hours, 13 minutes and 53 seconds."
Cat owners will defer, "We think she's about 2 or 3 years old..."
Dogs exude personality.
Cats exude independence.
Dogs know words.
Cats: "No words."
If cats do "know" words... well, then they sure as hell understand the art of feigning ignorance.
These are words associated with dogs.
Loyalty (to no one...).
Obedience (Pfff. Riiiiiight...).
Love (of sunny spots and tongue baths maybe...).
Expression (as long as that expression involves a middle finger...).
There is always a BIG story behind a dog. Usually weeks in the making if not months.
Cats have stories, too. Very detailed ones. But chances are if you asked a dog to recite his or her story he or she would do it in a most excited and immaculate manner. Woofing in gregarious detail all the way!
Cats, on the other hand, would write their story down somewhere, hide it from everyone and wait until 'The Mothership' touches down before revealing their ultimate truth... (you think I'm kidding?)
Let it be clear: I adore cats.
Let it also be clear: I adore dogs.
Can there really be such a strain of humanity??
You usually don't find this happy medium in most people.
You're either one, or the other.
Dog Owners might say: "Cats = Terrorists, Dogs = Patriots".
Cat Owners might say: "Dogs = Short Bus To English As A 2nd Language Class, Cats = New York Times Sunday Edition Crossword Puzzle".
So, where does that leave us 'lovers of both'?
Dogs = Dogs.
Cats = Cats.
Why, that's great, too!
Are we then Patriotic Progressives? Folks that are willing to negotiate with the terrorists after weeks of scholarly review? Or, just undeniably neurotic...?
Whatever. Meet The Mouth.
"Loki" (after hours of naming-rites debate between Heather and myself!).
She's a black lab mix. We're thinking a touch of Chow or Pyrenees thrown in perhaps judging by the kinky hair around her ears and the pudgier than normal snout for a normally pure-bred lab.
Did I mention she's black? Matches 'The Coven'! (ed. - oh, go get yourselves on some meds pronto, you obsessives!)
I found her ... (rather she found me!) ... at the local Austin pet shelter, "Cause For Paws."
I just couldn't say, "No."
Isn't that how the excuse usually goes?
She had me at, "Woof." (complete with jowly head-cocked, mushy brown eyes all a-drooping...!)
Indeed. Stricken was I.
We are now the proud owners of one very high energy, completely time consuming bundle of canine joy. It's been awhile for me, admittedly. I grew up with dogs and loved their undying companionship. The way they would hop into your arms when you came home at night. The way you could just tell they would die inside every time you left the homestead - even for a second!
No difference here.
Loki is only a puppy, maybe 3 or 4 months at most, and she dies inside every time you have to "crate" her for the night (merely to save the cats mind you) or leave the house for even just a moment.
She hates any activity shy of full-on buddy-buddy companionship. When she finally has your undivided attention... she then promptly pees everywhere (Chorus Of Cats be heard: "Heathen!").
That's how excited she becomes: "Oh, joy of joys, love of loves, be still my beating little puppy heart! My saviors, my companions, my pack! Once again reunited! May I christen you with the fresh bowl of water I just drank about an hour ago now??"
I am not a squeamish person. Albeit, I am no fan of full-on feces coverage either, but I can handle the fairly minor, messy "inconveniences" in life.
Ha! What's a little body-processed H20!?
Hell, I used to do that all the time in college!
What kind of word is "poop" anyway!? A word for faeries! Faeiries poop!
I can handle a little "poop". Why I can even handle a lot of "POOP!" (read: you should see some of the jobs I've held in my life...)
Loki is a factory full of it all.
Not so much the vomit part, really, but certainly the other exiting doggy doings to be sure.
We're beginning to feel like a maid service, in fact. We've mopped the house so many times in the past week that it's either extremely clean, or we've merely scrubbed all that puppy urine so deeply into the wood floors that the yellow shine is simply an illusion.
And that MOUTH!
Anyone want to suggest how to handle a clacking maw full of fanged, chewing, non-stop gnashing-toothy chomping action?! Please do advise! Heather has nicknamed her "The Alligator". When next we meet the holes in our shoes aren't some fashion statement for warmer climes be assured... furniture, rugs, plants, pecans, metal(!), pillows, molding ... gulp! The Cats!!
"NO, LOKI, NO! DOWN! HOLD! HOOOOOOLD! HOOOOLD!"
"Hold", our special power word for ... for everything she's not suppose to be doing, really - quite effective!
It's like a spiritual mantra all of a sudden. "Hold" will bring peace & calm to our universe on most occasions. When it doesn't work properly "Cookie?" or "Walk?" sometimes will suffice.
Without going into too much more detail (again the whole "people-who-go-on-and-on-about-how-extraordinary-and- wonderful-their-doggies-&-kitties-are-thing" happens to be a personal, ahem, pet-peeve of mine...) Loki is whip-smart, gentle, heart breaking-ly loving & lovable, criminally cute and has a bark that mimics both a feral coyote and a stray minke whale when she's lonely, and one that quickly evolves into a deep, throaty, window-rattling "BAW-ROOF! BAW-ROOF!" when she's acting all tough.
"Ha! Tough, eh? You think you're so tough, is that it? Try scrubbing crap out of a rug at 2:30 in the morning sometime, dawg! I'll show you tough!"
In short, though, we're tremendously proud and truly happy to have our new family member with us, and hoping that she'll be ... hold on a sec.
"NO, LOKI, NO! DON'T YOU TOSS THAT CAT THAT HIGH IN THE AIR! HOLD! HOOLD!! HOOOOOLLLLLD!!!"
Apologies, gotta run.
Must peel cat off ceiling...