My sister used to have this dog. Well, I guess you could call it a dog; it didn’t really look like one. I have an overwhelming urge to say, “But it had such a sweet nature!” to make up for calling it ugly (and it was- YIKES) but it did not have a sweet nature. Not that it was evil, or even mean-spirited, but there was something deeply wrong with this dog (I promise this will relate to date night eventually). It had too much yin and not enough yang or too much yang and not enough yin–something–the point is the dog was unbalanced. It was a poodle crossed with a boston terrier. Again- YIKES! My sis was scammed by a breeder telling her it was a trendy new breed. It was a cute puppy–but aren’t they all–and no one minded its insanity then because it was so cute (I think it works the same way with people, no?). When it grew, its ears grew to be twice the size of its head, and its fur grew only in oddly shaped clumps–what little fur it had. The vet took one look and said, “Well, obviously you won’t be breeding her…” But again, all this would have been forgiven had the dog been a lovable scamp. It wasn’t; it was crackers. It spent a lot of time in its doggy crate because every time it came out it would go berserk. The house, on the leash, everywhere. They tried obedience school, books, etc, no dice. My husband has a theory that the dog’s insanity was in part due to being locked up too much–that she went nuclear every time she got out of her crate because she thought each time might be her last chance to taste freedom, and therefore pulled out all the stops.
Enter date night. Thursday night was date night, the first in a long, long time. When we finally made it out of the door, Mumu howling in the background, and onto the winding road leading down the volcano and into down, Jungledad started driving like he’d never handled a car in his life. The road is all curves, and he was failing at every one–I almost had to have him pull over so I could barf. When we finally got into town and started looking for a parking space near the restaurant (ok, technically sports bar– this ain’t manhattan, yo) we both started panicking about parking spaces. There were plenty of spaces to be had, but we kept whipping around the block, stressing about time despite the fact there were no reservations to worry about, wondering aloud, in panicky voices, if we should go somewhere else. Completely unable to form any decisions or rational thought.
“Jesus!” Jungledad cried, “I’m like your sister’s dog!”
“Me too!” I yelled, “I’m my sister’s dog too!”
So we parked the car. We had a lovely, lovely dinner. Great table overlooking the bayfront. Fish freshly caught and so very delish. Went out for ice cream after. We laughed, we talked, we watched “Dear John.”
I am so glad we got out of our crate.