That is approximately how many blades of grass there are in and around the area of the apartment complex that I live in. Give or take a couple.
How do I know this? Did I Google it? Nope. Well maybe a little bit. But I assure you I did that only after doing extensive calculations on my own, after which I found out that I suck at calculations. So then I was given the name of a friend of a friend that I was told was an “expert” on grass. It didn’t take me long to figure that we were not talking about the same kind of “grass” and I am pretty sure now that this guy was an undercover narcotics officer who at this very moment is working on a search warrant for my apartment. Lucky for me I gave him the apartment number of The Renaissance Man (you know who he is if you read my blog religiously, shame on you if you don’t) who lives just across my place. He works out a lot and could probably survive a short stay in prison. When will I learn just to Google things? Probably never.
But how do I really know how many blades of grass there were?
It’s simple. Blue stopped at every single one of them to sniff and then pee this morning. Every single one. Wait. Yes. He did stop at every single one of them, but he pretty much ran out of pee by blade of grass number 7. Not that he didn’t try to pee on the others because he did. I always get a kick out when he picks up his hind leg to pee and nothing comes out because he is already peed out. I always imagine a big cloud of dust being coughed out of of him when he does that.
Blue is basically two different dogs. Always has been since that fateful day I brought him home from the dog shelter. Oh my God where would he be now if I had not chosen him that day? Sorry, off topic. Let’s try again.
Blue is two dogs.
The first is the inside dog. From the first moment he walked into my place he ran into the living room and jumped on the sofa and sat down to watch TV. Just like that. He didn’t look around or inspect anything. Didn’t reach for the remote control (smart dog). He just lay there and started watching CNN (smart dog again). He was so at ease with it that I assume he had gotten away from someone (they probably watched Fox News) those weeks ago that the animal control guys picked him up on the street. How long he had been out there is anyone’s guess. The dog shelter guessed he was maybe a year old when they picked him up. They also reported he was obviously house trained when they got him, so yeah, somebody lost a dog. They did what they do to put it out there that they had the dog for about a month and then put him up for adoption.
When my daughter dragged me to The Laurie P. Andrews PAWS Center in search of a dog I was skeptical we would find one. My daughter is a real wuss when it comes to homeless dogs. She cries when she sees them on TV. I knew she would not be able to make up her mind. Plus she is allergic to dogs and cats. I knew that adoption or no adoption her eyes were going to be so sealed shut by crying and allergies that I was going to have to cut her like Mick did in round 7 of the first Rocky movie.
She did cry at just about every cage. But we marched on until I turned the corner and saw two small dogs in a cage together. One was an older Chihuahua wearing a Mexican poncho named Paco who just wouldn’t shut up. The other one was Blue. He just sat there bewildered. Didn’t want to have anything to do with the mariachi dude freaking out next to him. He needed saving. So we saved him.
And, nearly a couple of years later, he is still a good dog that is deathly afraid of mariachi groups and every cries every time we go through the drive-thru at Taco Bell. Go figure. But I can live with that.
The second Blue is the outside dog. A total turn around from his inside personality. Inside the apartment he does everything I tell him. Outside is a different matter. Let me show you by difference.
Me- Blue get the ball.
Blue- Copy that. I’m on it.
Me-Blue get the remote.
Blue- No problemo. Shall I put it on True Detectives?
Me- Blue get me a Dos Equis out of the fridge. Get me a lime wedge and the salt with that.
Blue- It’s kind of late. Wouldn’t you prefer a sweet red? How about a nice Merlot?
Blue- My apologies. One dressed up Dos Equis coming right up.
See? I have no problems with him inside the house. He’s the perfect inside dog. Does what he is told inside. When I take him outside he switches over to his other personality.
I open the door to the apartment to let him out. He exits before I get the leash on him.
Blue- SO LONG MOTHER f**KERS! AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH!
Me- Blue stop that!
Me- Blue sit!
Me- YOU SIT FATASS! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Me- That’s it! We are back going in!
Blue- CATCH ME IF YOU CAN MOTHER F**KERS! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
It goes on like that, but only for about 5 minutes. Apartment life has made Blue a lazy dog. He will go all out for only a few minutes before he collapses on the grass gasping for air like a fish out of water. Like my ex used to say about me “he is good coming out of the gate but not much for stamina.” Wait a minute. Hey! I just got that! Not cool!
Anyway. Blue will not listen outside. Not in the slightest. When he is outside he just becomes this wild and crazy dog taking in everything he can. Like he is looking to hunt and chase something and he won’t let anything get in his way. I see other people and their dogs and they seem not to have this issue. Or at least not to the extent Blue has it.
Maybe just needs more exercise to get it out of his system. Or, maybe, he truly is not inside dog material. I mean he does great inside, but just maybe he was not designed for that. Maybe he is meant to run around like a mad person. I just don’t know for sure. I just see other people with their well behaved outside dogs and I wonder.