Living with a bulldog is an exotic experience. Let’s take a look at what Odd Trundles has done just in this past week:
* Helped Miss B eat a half-stick of butter. To be fair, I think it was knocked off the counter by the Little Prince in the frenzy of table-clearing that follows dinner each night, both kids competing to see who can bring the most dishes into the kitchen–no, I did not push them to these lengths. In fact, they perform this ritualistic contest in silence, because after a collision cost us a plate and a half-full glass of milk, I banned the damn race but they don’t listen, surprised I am not, as Yoda would say. Regardless, I noticed both dogs were 1. not in the office with me after dinner and 2. suspiciously quiet, which led to me striding into the living room and finding them engaging in a contest of their own over aforesaid clump of dairy product, now sadly mangled. I said “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE” and they both jumped guiltily, and I picked up the sad slobbery remainders of the butter and started thinking about how I was going to deal with two dogs with greased insides. Fortunately, Odd has a cast-iron digestive system and very few Bowel Disturbances. Miss B’s stomach is much more finicky, but Odd’s greedy gulping meant she probably didn’t get much of the buttery prize.
I should note that because it takes something superlative to give Odd Intestinal Troubles, those disturbances, while few and far between, end up being…well, noteworthy, i.e., massive.
* Decided to add “Despoiler of Mum’s Garden” to his list of titles. I don’t know what prize he gets for that achievement, but it’s sufficiently shiny to keep him going back to attempt it. Note that his list of titles includes: Last of the McSchnorgles, JOWLS (“much scarier than JAWS”), “Oh My God What A Broken Dog”, The Methane Factory, Mumsy’s Little Teapot, He Who Chews The Pillows–I could go on. Anyway, he was in chomp and snuffle mode, and managed to uproot four of the small tomato plants I carefully nurtured from seed. Normally this would only be annoying, but since tomatoes are part of the Solanaceae family, their fruit is edible but the greenery is full of poisonous alkaloids, and that was enough to give me a heart attack until I realized he hadn’t eaten the tomato plants, just destroyed them because he was more interested in chewing dirt. (Don’t ask.)
* Started obsessively licking a light socket. I was brushing my teeth, getting ready for bed, and I suddenly realized that instead of grooming Miss B or licking his own paws (both of which he does a LOT) or attempting to groom the Mad Tortie (she puts up with it, God alone knows why) he was licking a light socket, and I dropped my toothbrush and yelled, spraying the mirror (and myself) with foam as I whirled to hurry out and save him from becoming a barbecued bulldog. Odd Trundles just looked up at me, licking his chops. “WHUT? YOU LOOK FUNNY. DID YOU MEET MY NEW FRIEND? HE TASTES ZINGY.” Then he tried to go back to licking the light socket, which meant I had to drag him away while Miss B decided the toothpaste on me was FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD and she NEEDED SOME OF DAT. Which gave me the bright idea of trying to distract Trundles with toothpaste foam I scraped off my cheeks, but he was having none of that because the light socket was apparently lonely and begging for his especial company. I finally got him into his crate with a chew toy, zipped the crate shut, and crouched there hyperventilating while Miss B, happy to have found one thing Odd would not eat, tried her level best to clean all the toothpaste off me and Odd stared reproachfully at his mean mum who wouldn’t let him play with his friends.
And people wonder why I’m crazy. Christ.
* Tried to mate with the cat, the footstool, Miss B, my sneakers, and a feather pillow, all in the space of twenty minutes. I’m…just going to let that speak for itself.
Every day brings a new adventure for Odd. He is, as I remarked on Twitter, like a hyperactive, housebroken toddler on hallucinogens. His various physical ailments and low cunning instead of intelligence (to be fair, again, most of what brain he has is occupied in the problem of breathing through compromised airways and piloting his dense, unruly, corkscrewed body through space) would make a lesser dog cranky, I think, but Odd has been blessed with such a friendly and joyous disposition that even handicaps, hindrances, and hissing, clawing cats are seen as NEW FRIENDS to be loved and cherished and slobbered on. (Seriously, everything he meets is a NEW FRIEND, and there’s nothing he loves better than a NEW FRIEND unless it’s perhaps BACON or EAR RUBS OMG.) It’s a damn good thing he’s so idiotically good-natured, because a cranky, intelligent Odd Trundles would be trouble.
As it is, Miss B is occupied daily with herding him around and reminding him to breathe, which is as good a job for her bossy self as any I could name. And he’s endlessly devoted to his humans, including MUM OH MUM I WILL PROTECT YOU FROM FIRMLY BETWEEN YOUR ANKLES.
Seriously, if ankle-biting zombies ever attack, Odd will be our hero. Until then, he’s damn fine entertainment, and keeps us all on our toes…