THE BUD SAGA - PART 9

Another gorgeous day. The past week, with all its balmy temperatures and bright sunshine, has spoiled us. It is hinting at spring - and will make it difficult to revert back to the winter’s real face when it returns, because that WILL happen. Be aware - the demons are just fooling with us. In the meantime, one can’t help but enjoy the present weather. It’s a nice interlude.

It is also the time of year when people in the accounting profession are very involved in work. Other than to tell you that Bud seems to be in great shape and is showing no signs of getting worse, my only subject of conversation is all about the office – a most boring subject unless you are part of it. I will be working from home today. Hopefully, without the many distractions and interruptions, I can complete a set of financial statements that are long overdue.

In the meantime, because of my lack of stimulating conversation, I’ll make up for it with the next chapter of the Bud Saga.

YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - A Solution

The only word I can use to describe how I felt when Bud peed on the couch is flabbergasted. His whole attitude was total insolence!

“You little…why you little…” I sputtered! I jumped out of my chair and he took off around the couch, staying just far enough away to be out of reach. He knew too that I couldn’t catch him. He was taunting me, as he did with the labs. Okay, breathe through you nose…count to ten…

Still counting, I pulled out the rug shampoo, donned gloves and cleaned up with wet rags and paper towels. The dogs watched in silence. I was seething, and they all felt it. Only when I returned to the rocker did the pit saunter over and climb up onto the couch, keeping an eye on me all the while. Right then I didn’t want him in my sight, so I turned away and started to rock. One of the labs sighed before putting his head down between his paws…relieved that the storm was abating?

The next morning I tied Bud outside as usual. This time, however, I kept hold of him when I brought him in. Knowing that it was dangerous to leave a dog attached with a choker while unattended, I linked the new chain to his second collar, one made of stout leather. The other end of the chain was looped and fastened around three thick, wooden stair rails. I had moved everything out of his reach except a pail of water and a couple of pieces of newspaper. Hopefully he would use them for his dump, but I wasn’t counting on it. Still, the little Sh*t was restricted to a small area. His revenge pooh and water would be the only mess to clean up tonight.

One should never underestimate a pit-bull.

When I unlocked the door that evening, no dogs came racing past me. Apprehensive, I entered the house. Ben and Beef, fearing reprisal, were cringing by the rocker. The pit was sitting in the middle of the floor, tongue lolling, surrounded by splinters of mangled wood, and without his leather collar. He was looking at me calmly. Incredulous, I saw that only one of the railings had survived, and the collar was still hanging off the chain, but torn in two. The corners of the four first steps were missing. They had been chewed through the carpet and into the wood itself. What stopped my heart was the sight of my friend’s thousand dollar boom box. The speakers were ripped in half, and the side of the box was in pieces. It was ruined. Because I had thought Bud unable to roam, the garbage can, still without its lid, had not been put away. There hadn’t been much in it, and compared to the rest, that mess was minimal.

None of the dogs moved an inch during my survey. I turned to the labs. They looked as devastated as I felt, and they were such good dogs. “Come here, guys. Out.” I spoke softly. They got up, tails wagging gratefully, and came towards the door. The pit trotted over and joined them. Forcing self control, I took hold of his choker, then, once outside, quickly snapped him to the gallery chain. There would be no hour-long search tonight. And if you hang yourself off there, too damned bad!

I closed the door and buried my face in my hands. This couldn’t go on! I wasn’t sure I would be sane at the end of the week, let alone a second one! I didn’t even want to imagine what the house would look like by then. Well, not much you can do about it tonight.

When the cleanup was finished, I let the dogs in and fed them. Bud went into his routine of harassing the labs, laying off only when I yelled at him, and then only for a few minutes before starting again. The growling, the snarls, the barking…it was becoming background noise. I was lamenting this fact over the phone to a comrade who had called to see how I was doing. He knew what was going on, as did most of my work colleagues.

It had become the story of the hour in the lunchroom. Those who didn’t hear it there would stop into my office during the day to get the latest episode of the “Bud Saga”. Unfortunately, they also regaled me with their own frightening tales of pit-bulls, most of it hearsay, which didn’t help my situation at all. Only one woman, a dedicated dog-lover, offered a different view. She told me how her dad had rescued a mistreated pit from its cruel master. “My dad treated it with love, and swears it’s now the best dog he’s ever had. Remember, it’s the master who makes the dog.”

“Not in this case,” I answered. “My friend is a dog person, like your dad, but this pit is a real terror!”

She smiled knowingly. “But now your friend is not there. You have become the master."

Right. Except the pit doesn’t know that. And I didn’t even like the dog, let alone show him love. I couldn’t remember petting him once since I’d met him. I preferred my hands attached to my arms.

Now the guy on the phone was giving similar advice with a different twist. “Pits have to know you’re the boss, and it takes them awhile…or a two by four. They’re awfully hard-headed.” One of his ex-girlfriends had owned one, and it had not been a good experience. This guy wasn’t a pit-bull fan.

“But what am I going to do?” I wailed. “He’s tearing down the house! And I can’t stay here and watch him all day. I have to work.”

“That’s why I called,” he answered. “I’ve got a cage big enough for him. You can borrow it if you want. That way he won’t be loose in the house.”
Yes! Finally a solution!

I made plans to meet him and pick up the cage the following night. Hanging up the phone, I yelled at the pit who was still bugging a growling Ben. “Go lie down!” He looked at me, and waited. Were we going to play chase again?

“Ben. Beef. Come, guys.” I headed for my rocker and the labs followed. Somehow I knew that the pit would leave them alone as long as they were lying by me. I was right. Realizing that his quarry was gone, Bud resigned himself to his habitual place on the couch. He sat watching us. I stared back at him.

“You, my little Sh*t, are going to be caged!” I sneered. “No more games for you!!” No reaction. Not even an ear twitched. He sat there panting, his gaze steady.

Suddenly I was filled with trepidation. Maybe a cage was the answer, but how was I ever going to get him into it? He wasn’t going to like the thing, that was certain. The thought that followed was even more worrisome. How will he react when I let him out?

I glanced back at him. Anything I would do that was not to his liking I was sure to pay for. This cage idea, necessity or not, was going to cost me. What I didn’t realize at the time was that Bud would pay the cost too. We were about to learn a lesson, and not without pain.

(To be cont’d)

Now I’ll get back to work, but not before wishing you all a great day, and sending you a SMILE, hoping you’ll send it on!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.