Dud Dog

Caramel colored throw-up was everywhere. On the carpet, on the stairs, and by the front door were pools of vomit. At least 'Nook tried to make it outside.

It was the summer after I'd completed graduate school, and to reward myself for walking to class for the past six years, I had just purchased my first car. Ellie the Elantra: she was sexy, economical, and environmentally friendly. I wanted to show her off. So, I made sure she was spotless, threw 'Nook in the covered back seat, and drove up to see my mom in Atlanta. 

After a week of being spoiled, 'Nook and I prepared for the trek back home. As I was packing bowls and bags, 'Nook started throwing up. 

"Moooooommm" I yelled, "Help!"

She ran out and saw the damage. "Uh-oh," she said, "looks like it's gonna be a long ride home."

I was not relieved. 

Over lunch, I couldn't stop thinking about 'Nook's sudden illness. I took a bite of salad, and looked up at my mother. 

"You know, I just can't figure it out." I  poured more dressing on my salad. "I haven't switched dog foods. 'Nook wasn't around other dogs. It isn't adding up." 

She looked down at her plate. Here's a little dirty secret about my mom: she's a sucker for cute, pathetic looking dogs. She knows Nanook is the closest thing she'll get to a grandchild for a really long time, so she spoils him incessantly. The first time she met Nanook, she essentially fed him a whole bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos. It's so bad, he knows when we're going to grandma's. As soon as 'Nook sees my mom come out of her house to greet us, he runs up, presses his body against hers, and gives the best 'what-do-you-got-to-eat' look. When we eat supper, he gently rests his head on my mother's leg and works the sad puppy eyes. He knows where to go to get his bread buttered. 

"Mom," I say slowly, "what did you do?"

"Nothing," she replies, stirring her soup. 

"MOM" I yell. 

"Okay, okay. I gave him a treat."

"What kind of treat?"

She looks back at the table, "Milkduds."

I put my fork down in disbelief, "So let me get this straight." She starts to laugh, "You ... gave my dog ... Milkduds. You gave my dog chocolate?"

"He's cute." 

Luckily, 'Nook managed to recover quickly, and we had a vomit-free car ride home. But it just goes to show, looks cannot only kill. Beauty can also alter my mom's brain, and convince her that feeding Milkduds to a dog is the best idea in the world. 

A Stroke of Genius

"This place smells like shit," my roomate exclaims after setting her luggage down.

I set my laptop bag on the sofa, take in a big breath and begin to pet Nanook, who has decided to welcome me home by thwacking me with his furry tail, "It really does," Nanook is now licking my face, "does the cat litter need changing?"

Sabryna shrugs and walks off to change the litter box, while I go on rubbing Nanook behind his ears.
"Nook," his ears perk up,"you would have LOVED this place."
He whines.
"There was a big green lawn to lay in -"
'Nook huffs.
"and a long beach to run on -"
He twirls.
"-Oh! And lot's of frat boys to bite."
He barks.
"Fine, fine. I'll take you. Let's go," I say, grabbing the leash.

After a nice long walk and about three poops later (which is oddly usual for my special boy), Nanook and I come home to Sabryna, who is now sniffing everything in the apartment.

"Does it still smell like shit in here to you? Or am I just going crazy" she asks when we walk in the door.

"It does. That's so weird." I decide to play the sniffing game too, and go into my room, then the kitchen, then the bathroom with my nose in the air, inhaling fumes.

"I don't get it," Bry says, "I emptied the litter, and it still smells awful in here. I thought maybe 'Nook pooped somewhere, but I can't find anything."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too, but I don't see anything," I look down at 'Nook, who's conked out on the carpet after our 1/2 mile walk, "maybe it's just the litter lingering."

A couple of hours and two loads of laundry later, I decide to hop in the shower to rinse the travel smell off of me. I reach in through the closed shower curtain, turn on the faucet and grab a towel before stripping down. The smell of poop gets stronger. God, I really hope our pipes aren't backed up. As I pull the shower curtain back, I see it. There in the middle of our tub is a huge pile of poop. But this isn't just one 'Nook poop, it's multiple 'Nook poops. Nanook, in leiu of his dogsitter not coming over to take him outside enough, went into the bathroom, pooped in the tub, and left the shower curtain perfectly closed when he was finished. I couldn't even be mad. I stood there in the nude for a good five minutes laughing, before calling Sabryna in to look at what 'Nook had done.

"That dog-" she says laughing.

"- is a genius?" I finish. "He has his moments."

Nanook: 1 Alicia: 0

Cesar Millan makes it look so easy. Dogs on treadmills? Sure. Rollerblading your 110-pounder around the park? Why not? Just a simple tsssss here and a tug of the leash there, and you've got a dog suited to live with Queen Elizabeth.

The Dog Whisperer had just finished taming a wild pit bull who had a thing for lunging at innocent bystanders, right about the time Nanook started barking at the neighbor, who just wanted to get something out of his car, which just so happened to be parked in front of my window. I stared in awe at my television screen as Cesar worked his magic. Anytime the pit would so much as suggest he was going to move, Milan would tap the dog on the neck, and it would go back to calmly panting. At the end of the episode, Cesar handed the leash of the pit back to its owner, and proclaimed, 'You can do this.' A voice inside me agreed.

I looked at Nanook, guarding the window, then back at the screen "Yes," I exclaimed, "I can do this."

'Be the dominant pack leader," Cesar prodded.

"I WILL!"

Nanook huffed. But I was determined. No longer would I wake up at 2 a.m. because 'Nook was barking at the ice maker. Never again would my neighbors be afraid to walk by my front window. Yes, my 85 pound dog would be calm and submissive, and I, at 5' 1", would be the dominate member of our pack.

I started transitioning 'Nook to his submissive role slowly. He learned to patiently wait for me to set his food down instead of devouring it mid-air while it was still in my hand. I trained him to walk calmly beside me on walks, ears tucked back and tail lowered. He was becoming a regular Martha Stewart of dogs. But there was still one problem: the bicyclists.

Nanook has always hated cyclists. Every time one would ride by while we were walking, he'd lunge. It wasn't so much that he hated the people, just the machine they chose to commute on. I'm not sure if it was the wheels that terrified him, or the fact that bicycles are significantly bigger than he is, but to Nanook, bicycles might as well be the Boogie Man. When he's whimpering in his sleep, I'm pretty sure it's because he's being chased by a bike in his dreams. Which is why, at every opportunity, Nanook will try to fight bikes - with or without people on them.

I didn't know what to do. On walks, I'd tssss him before the bike was even beside us. I'd pull his leash tightly and swiftly as his body started stiffening. But inevitably, he'd still always lunge for the wheels of the bike, growling and barking and sending the poor innocent rider into a panic. I was at a loss. I kept on watching Cesar's show for an answer, and one day I found it.

Cesar was training an adorable bulldog to not bite skateboarders as they coasted by his house. As he conquered the dog's fear by simply skateboarding beside him until he got used to it, a lightbulb went off in my head.

OF COURSE, I thought, all I have to do is get 'Nook comfortable with bikes, by riding next to him. Why haven't I thought of this sooner?

I went right to work. Repeating Cesar's words in my head (we don't see the bike - the bike does not exist), I took 'Nook out on a leash and walked him passed his arch-nemesis. My bike didn't know what was coming. As it stood there, propped on its kick-stand, 'Nook barked, growled, and then barked some more. Finally, after about 15 minutes of berating, 'Nook seemed to be over it, and I was ready to take the training to the next level.

With 'Nook's leash in one hand and my bike handle in the other, we went for a stroll in the grass. For about five minutes, Nanook seemed okay walking next to the bike. He eyed it constantly, but was calm. The voice inside my head was rejoicing. But pride always comes before the fall.

I got a big head, and decided it would be a great idea to try riding my bike next to Nanook. After all, he'd been doing so well. I figured it was time to up the ante. I hooked 'Nook's leash onto the belt-loop of my favorite jeans, hopped on my bike and took off.

For about two seconds, I thought it was going to work. I thought I was going to be that awesome dog owner that can ride her bike with her dog running beside her calmly. I imagined myself riding around the park with 'Nook right beside my bike, our hair blowing in the wind. People would see us coming and say, "Wow! Look at that well-behaved dog. I wish I could get my dog to do that!"

Right about the time I pictured Cesar sending me a your-an-awesome-owner letter, I realized Nanook was panicking. And before I knew it, he sprinted for the backdoor of my apartment. This wouldn't really be an issue, had I been smart enough to hold onto the leash instead of attaching it to my body. So there I was, being dragged at full speed (literally by the seat of my pants) by a terrorized dog who was intent on doing nothing but shoving his body underneath my bed. The fire pit on the back porch, the recycling bin - they would not stand in between him and his safe place. He barreled through them. And just as I was about to hit the iron table, my pants ripped.

When I went inside, I found a pile of poop on the kitchen floor and Nanook under my bed. When I tried to coerce him out, he growled at me. He stayed there, still attached to his leash, for the rest of the night. It wasn't until he had to go outside that he gave in, came out from under the bed and cautiously laid beside my feet.

I don't watch The Dog Whisperer anymore. It isn't because I don't believe his tactics work. They do. Nanook is a fantastic walker now. Cyclists can even ride beside us; as long as I don't look at them, 'Nook doesn't either. It's just that I've given up trying to make Nanook something he's not. Sometimes dogs just need to be dogs. Sure, he may still bark at people who walk by our apartment in Savannah, but it's kind of nice. It's like having a home security system (which comes in handy when you live one block east of druggie paradise). Yes, he isn't a runner and he still refuses to get close to a bike. But he's a great cuddler, and he could beat any dog in an icecream eating contest. In a way, 'Nook is very much like me. Some rules he lives by. Others, he tosses to the curve because they don't fit his personality. How could you not love a dog like that?

Does the Biggest Loser Take Dogs?

"I'm going to run a 5k," I say while watching The Biggest Loser and shoveling another bite of chocolate peanut butter pie in my mouth.

Nanook has his head perched on my leg, his eyes shooting back and forth between the dessert on the table and me.

"No, I take that back," Nook's ears perk up as my fork picks up some chocolate that's fallen on the plate, "We're going to run a 5k. You and me. We're gonna find a local race, start training tomorrow," I look at the workout gear on the participants, "and buy sweat bands."

He huffs, then devours some crumbs I carelessly dropped on the ground.

"It will be good for us to finish something," I say, glancing at the half-painted bedroom, the half-read book, and half-finished homework in front of me. Then I exclaim, "Oh my God, I can't believe she GAINED weight this week. She's not working hard enough,"and take another bite of pie.

The next day, when I come home, Nanook refuses to get out from underneath my bed. He's shoved his body far enough underneath the frame so only his tail is peaking out from underneath the red comforter. I coerce him out with Spicy Nacho Doritos, then put my running shoes on.

We start off small - a fast-paced walk - and 'Nook seems to be enjoying himself. His nose is up in the air, his nostrils flaring to take in the new smell. His poofy tail blows in the wind, a beautiful sight juxtaposed with the long piece of drool starting to dangle from his mouth.

When we turn out of Stadium Walk onto Lanier Drive, I decide to step it up a bit and start jogging. Nanook stares up at me, then down at his feet, then up at me again.

"You can do it 'Nook," I cheer, "We aren't even running fast," and pull the leash as motivation.

We jog down to the stop light, and I notice the leash is extended as far as it can go. For most dog owners, this would mean they were being dragged by their dog, who wants nothing more than to run as fast as it can. But I am not most dog owners, because I own Nanook.

'Nook is a food-stealing dog-ninja. He's the dog who ate a fondant Wii remote I made for one of my friends groom's cake. He's the dog who once ate a stick of butter I left out on the kitchen counter. And now, he's the dog who is so out of shape that he's running a full leash-length behind me. In order to keep my pace, I have to fully extend my arm backwards.

"Come on 'Nook," I yell, more worn out from tugging him than running, "Let's go! Let's go!"

But Nanook, in a pure moment of fatty frustration, ignores my motivational comments and sits down.

"'Nook, what are you doing?" I tug on the leash, "Get up."

He lays on the cement. We have not even gone half of a mile, and my dog has decided he's had enough. We have a stare-off, and I try to encourage him.

"'Nook, it's not even that far back."

He glares at me.

"Seriously, 'Nook."

Again, nothing.

"Seriously. You need to get up."

I tug at the leash, until I force him off the pavement, back in the direction of home. He huffs, and I continue walking and tugging the entire way back to the apartment. When we get in the door, he rushes to his water bowl, and laps up the entire thing like he just got done with an Ironman triathlon, and defeated, I get out another piece of peanut butter pie.

Tiny Penis Syndrome

Some males just like to show off how big their penises are (or at least how big they imagine them to be). Sports, income, video games, technological gadgets: they all are penis measuring contests to these particular men, and Nanook fits right into this category. But as the saying goes, the bigger a man is (or thinks he is), the harder they'll fall (in the bedroom *snicker*). Sure, Nanook is an 80 pound dog that looks like he'll rip your head off if you so much as stick a hand out at him. Sure, he's big and bulky. But he's also an overcompensating wuss.

I blame the neutering. Nanook, like many dogs taken in by the pound, lost his male-dom when he was only six months old. 'Nook had no chance of 'planting his seed,' and seven months later, when he finally realized his male dream of producing little 'Nooks wasn't going to become a reality, he became one pissed off dick. Nanook started barking at everything that moved, as if to shout, 'I MAY NOT HAVE BALLS, BUT I CAN STILL SCARE AN UNSUSPECTING PASSERBY!!!' Neighbors that passed by the apartment window, my roommate's cats, friends (particularly male) who came over for a beer - they all fell victim to 'Nook's male rage. He'd bark ... and growl ... then bark some more. This proclamation of manliness could go on for hours. But it was all a show.

What the neighbors, the cats, and my friends didn't know is that much like the man who buys a Hummer to distract from his small rod, Nanook only growls to distract from the hidden fact that he is a dog scared of the least intimidating objects.

I started noticing this when he began growling at trash cans at 1 1/2 years old. If a Rubbermaid was moved so much as a 1/4", Nanook would go into full wuss-mode. He'd bark, put his tail in between his legs, then run as fast as he could until his massive body was completely shoved underneath my bed. Bicycles, hanging t-shirts, Christmas trees, leopard shoes - they all put the fear of God in Nanook. Even his own farts scared him.

This continued when I moved in with Will. 'Nook would walk into our bedroom, bark incessantly, then run away. It took us three weeks to realize what he was scared of Will's baseball glove on the dresser. Just last night, he got spooked by a hanging dress shirt.

It just goes to show overcompensating males are all alike. They put on a big show, but at the end of the day, the ones that show off the most are simply hiding something. So when I walk Nanook and people cross to the opposite side of the street, I can't help but laugh at the simple fact that my big, scary Nook is scared of Ralph Lauren.

I'd Like Butter Pecan Cone Please ... Better Make That Two

Regret. It’s a funny word loaded with remorse, anger and pitty. Some people regret dating that certain someone who broke their heart. Others regret decisions made at 3:30 in the morning when Captain Morgan and Grey Goose has taken over the blood. Outlandish and fiscally irresponsible purchases, career choices, and brash words: these are typical regrets. Regret plagues the hearts and minds of the present. But I don’t regret any of these things. What I regret is taking Nanook to Brusters.

The Bruster’s saga started when Nanook was only seven months old. Two of my girlfriends and I really wanted some icecream to cool down our tongues. But Nanook was too young to leave alone in the house. So instead of putting him in his kennel, I took him with me. After all, he looked sharp in his baby blue skull bandana and his new harness. I should have known better.

After ordering my fudge brownie sundae, the Bruster’s worker asked, “Would you like a doggie cone for your puppy?”

I looked down at Nanook, who just gazed up at my wide-eyed. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

The next thing I knew Nanook was attacking the small bowl of icecream. He didn’t even notice the dog bone stuck in the middle. He just licked the frozen treat until it was gone, then looked up at me with an are-you-going-to-finish-that-sundae look in his eyes. A monster was born.

Months later, after Nanook had grown to be about 70 pounds, we went back to Brusters. Before we could even pull up to the drivethru, he started panting heavily and drooling, like an addict needing a fix. Our icecream came through the window first, and the next thing I knew Nanook – a usually tame animal when it comes to food – lunged from the backseat to the front, his tongue reaching as close to the cone as it could. I barely saved my butter pecan. That is when I knew my dog had a problem.

It got worse after that. Every time I went to Brusters with ‘Nook in the car he would practically barge through the window at the poor worker. I would have to keep my icecream safe underneath my seat until we got home otherwise Nanook would eat it for me. Huffing and whining would ensue if I didn’t order him a doggie cone, which he would devour before I turned out of the parking lot.

Eventually, he even learned the word “Brusters.” It has become a no-no word in my apartment. You know, those words you spell because you can’t say it otherwise your dog will start running around in circles like a madman. One day I asked my boyfriend if he wanted to go to Brusters for dessert and before I knew it, Nanook was at the front door barking and wagging his tail.

Nanook’s addiction has its advantages though. If he doesn’t come back to the apartment I can say, “Oh well, I guess I’ll go to Brusters instead,” and he’ll come running full-speed. Even my mother has learned this trick. Last weekend while dogsitting for me, she was having a difficult time getting Nanook back in the house. “Come” just wasn’t cutting it. Then she yelled, “Nanook, let’s go to Brusters.” After that all she heard was the sound of leaves being crunched under ‘Nook’s paws as he barreled down the hill.

There aren’t a whole lot of dogs I know that would kill someone for icecream. Nanook would. When his legs kick while he’s dreaming, I imagine he is chasing after someone who’s stolen his Coffee Toffee cone. If anything is true about Nanook, it’s that he has the heart of a fat kid. A lot of dogs would do anything to protect their masters. I just better hope if I’m ever in trouble, I’ve got a Klondike bar in my hands.

Rebounds and Referees

Most people get puppies so they have something to nurture, to take care of . . . to love. The truth is, I got Nanook so I could feel better about myself. I had just gone through one of those I-can’t-believe-you-did-that breakups. The kind where tequila was my best friend and my bed was the only thing I saw for months at a time. I needed a rebound. But the thought of rebounding with an actual male made me want to vomit in my mouth at the time. So when the humane society worker told me Nanook was found with his brothers and sisters in a box on the side of the road I couldn’t resist. He was like that guy at the bar who’s had one too many. The guy you give a ride home to out of pity, then end up staying the night with.

The fact of the matter is, even though I got Nanook to boost my karma, he ended up making me happier than any man could of at the time. He did all the things men should do: he let me bitch after a long day without saying a word and came and snuggled with me after my rant was done. And when I did start dating again, he was there to make sure whoever was dating me, treated me right.

This is where Will comes in. I hadn’t intended on dating Will. The first time I met him was during a work dinner I accompanied my roommate to. I sat beside him as he talked with his coworkers about the fascinating gaming life of Halo until I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up and moved to the other end of the table. So when he asked me to go with him to an OAR concert in Atlanta on the Harry Potter book seven release weekend, I was a little hesitant and only agreed on the condition that he would let me read the entire trip up. We drove two hours without talking, and I was hooked. Any man who could respect me enough to let me read my Harry Potter book was a good man in my eyes.

Nanook, on the other hand, was not so happy for me to have another man in my life. He made it his personal mission to make sure Will only held my hand. Every time Will would come over and we would sit on the couch, Nanook would shove his body right in between the two of us as if to say, “don’t you touch my mommy you creep . . . I SEE THAT HAND.”

As the months went on, Nanook took to becoming the biggest cock block in dog history. He huffed if Will hugged me. He growled if lips touched. And god forbid anything happen in the bedroom. Even if anything as innocent as cuddling happened on my bed, he would jump up, and plop his big body down right in between the two of us, letting out a huff as he got comfortable.

Nanook’s no touching policy didn’t apply to only me. Once, my roommate’s boyfriend who lived in New York came down to Georgia to visit with a group of friends. We all stayed back a little to let the two of them have some private time at the apartment. But when we got back, my pissed off roomie informed me that Nanook decided to stand at her bedroom door barking, growling and doing whatever he could to make sure there were no shenanigans going on.

‘Nook’s gotten used to Will since those early days of dating. But every now and then, his ears will perk up if Will touches me suddenly (I think it's because Will gives him Brusters). I’ve decided that I should market Nanook's special abilities and come up with a new type of contraceptive called “No Nookie.” All I’d have to do is clone Nanook and give it to people. Who needs condoms and birth control when there’s a seventy-pound dog growling at a guy or gal reaching out for your hand?

Just Another Fling?

People say you find love when you aren’t looking. They say it just pops out of left field and hits you right, smack-dab in the head when you least expect it. Well, I didn’t find the love of my life that way. I had been looking for quite some time.

When I was a child, I observed the relationships my parents made. My dad would bring home scraggly, little things that would whine all the time and get angry if he didn’t show them enough attention. My mother would bring home big, hairy beasts that would knock me down at the drop of the hat. I knew I didn’t want to end up with anything like those ones. They weren’t my type. So the search began.

I would scope them out at parks, trying to figure out what body type I liked the best, and what temperament I could deal with. But I just couldn’t seem to find what I was looking for.

The first one I found had this bad habit of peeing all over the place whenever I wanted to give her some loving. I would brush the hair behind her ear, and she would just start whizzing all over the bed. It clearly didn’t work out. We had to breakup.

But one day, I met him. I remember it clearly: it was one of those sticky South-Georgia days where no matter how many times I showered I still smelled of sweat. We were outside of Anderson Feed Store when I saw him. He was gorgeous: thick, black and brown hair that poofed out into the perfect afro; a smile that could make Mr. Scrooge laugh. He was the last one left of his litter, just laying under the umbrella protecting himself from the harsh sun.

I walked over to the cage, and picked up the puppy. It’s fur was soft and clung to my sweaty skin. I was hooked. But he wasn’t. All the dog wanted to do was get back under his umbrella and go back to sleep. So I set him back in his cage and watched as he snuggled up next to the water bowl.

“He’s perfect,” I said, and thirty minutes later I walked away with what I thought would be just another fling.