Dali, the big dog that James found wandering the streets eight years ago, is a lady of contradictions. She can be the sweetest pup in the world one minute and then bare her teeth, snapping at the air, the next. That shift stays much more on the sweet side the older she gets, but the nasty side is still there and, likely, will always be. We think she has a couple of wires crossed and don’t take it personally. I do think she might be trying to kill me though. Or at least irritate me to death.
As noted in the above photo, which was taken a few minutes ago, Dali likes to occasionally block thresholds with her 70-pound frame. (true story: she once weighed in at the vet at 66.6 pounds) This wouldn’t be that big an issue, except for two things. I move fast, and sometimes when I’m moving fast I have an armload of folded laundry. Which means I can’t see the 70-pound dog that’s sprawled across the threshold until I’m right up on her. This situation requires quick thinking feet, which I don’t possess. (true story: I’m not what you’d call agile) I haven’t hit the ground yet, but I know it’s just a matter of time. The dog knows it, too. So she waits.
Sometimes at night she likes to get off her fluffy, comfy dog bed in the corner and settle on the hardwood floor near the foot of the bed on my side. So when I do my old-lady-needs-to-pee trip to the bathroom in the dark of night, I don’t know she’s there. This recently resulted in me sticking my big toe in/on her asshole, so now I shine the flashlight before I get out of bed. (true story: when you think you’ve touched your toe–or any body part, really–to a dog’s asshole, no matter how tired you are you will still take a moment to rinse said body part off before returning to bed and what is sure to be a night of fitful sleep)
Another thing she likes to do is get in front of me and then walk…very…slowly. I walk with speed and purpose everywhere I go. Even just to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I get trapped behind slow walker and she’s turned the trip between the couch and coffee table into an excursion instead of a quick three or four steps, I can feel my blood pressure rise. I swear she turns around and smiles at me before returning to her laborious gait.
Either she’s trying to get me to slow down a little, or she’s trying to break my neck. Six of one.