the dogs I know: one
Whatever, I'm gonna talk about dogs I know. Internet, it is in your best interest to let me do this, because I might become a productive citizen of the internet again if I do. I have fic, almost finished fic, but each time I open my file I just stare at it so I can proof it and post it, I give up to refresh a certain page on petango. And maybe after I write about this I'll stop.
Backstory: I walk/do basic training with dogs at the humane society in my city, and I am a fucking nutcase about dogs, and I think basically everyone should adopt and people who pay breeders lots of money for a puppy are either uninformed (not their fault) or utter fucking assholes (possibly also not their fault, but I am less sympathetic), or live somewhere with an infrastructure that doesn't support the pet adoption process (it happens, all right). This entry isn't really about any of that, though. It's about a dog. One particular dog.
Anyway.
Part I in a probably ongoing series.
BUNGIE
I am pretty sure that if a rampaging grizzly bear cub (look, the cubs are huge, okay) attacked the humane society, I would throw myself in front of Bungie.
Bungie is the coolest fucking dog in the world. No, really. I'm not sure I've ever met a sweeter dog. Bungie's awesome. Bungie also, as you can see, has three legs, but the missing fourth does NOT stop him from being happy all the fucking time. I love Bungie.
Bungie is the one that broke me. I was all, NO, I WILL NOT FALL FOR ANY OF THE DOGS AT THE SHELTER. I WILL BE STRONG.
And I held out for, like, three whole days, I think. Maybe a week? But on the first day, when I was kneeling to get down to face level, and telling Bungie what a good boy he is? Bungie was doing the big dog smile and wiggling into it, and you can just TELL he wants to shake paw to let you know he loves you, but he CAN'T because he'll FALL OVER and RAAAUGGH BUNNNNGIIIE.
He tries, though. You can see his little stump moving. He moves it as he nuzzles you and looks into your eyes.
Despite this, I held out. Sure, okay, I walk Bungie every single time I'm there. Half the time I walk Bungie as soon as I get there. I rage at people who are weird to Bungie. I complain that no one else walks Bungie, although I know that this is now partly because of my blatant favoritism. This is also partly because Bungie has truly foul loose stool, but let's ignore that part for now.
This girl I know, nice little fellow Hispanic girl I've worked with since I started, once complained to me,
"That three legged dog I just took out was all mouthy."
"Which three legged dog?" I said, forced casual. This was before I'd been there long enough to play known favorites. Fuck, this was, like, my first week there. And, yes, there are TWO dogs with three legs. As well as a third dog with a limp.
"The black one," she said.
"What, Bungie?" I said immediately. "Bungie? Bungie, mouthy? Mouthy? Really?"
"No, no, the dog with the limp," the girl said quickly.
I relaxed visibly.
"Avaunt?" I asked, now docile, "Yeah, Avaunt's a little mouthy."
My boyfriend's summary of this story is him crying out, in the mocking falsetto that represents my voice, YOU CALL BUNGIE MOUTHY AGAIN AND I'LL CUT YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!
OR/ALSO: "Little known fact: Archduke Franz Ferdinand once called someone's dog 'mouthy,' and see how that worked out."
But seriously, BUNGIE IS NOT MOUTHY.
(also, I sneaked back in to check the logs to make sure she was, in fact, talking about Avaunt. She was.)
Bungie also has, like, perpetually dry skin. AND BUNGIE IS THE MOST CHEERFUL BUT CALM DOG IN THE WORLD.
He gets around pretty well, actually. His progress isn't smooth, but he kind of hops along at quite a pace. Tripod dogs are better at faster speeds. Still, he gets tired more quickly than the other dogs, especially in the heat, and this is Florida in the fucking summer so the heat is insane, so he doesn't go through the 20-minute exercise regime that I usually inflict on the babies.
The truth is, Bungie can basically do whatever he wants. Bungie is the dog I let walk me: he'll go to whatever play area, I will open the gate, let him in. If he noses the toy box, I open it. If Bungie wants to spend seven minutes lying in the dust chewing on a dog soccer ball, Bungie gets to do that. But mostly Bungie does his business, accepts some love, and goes back to his kennel.
One day Bungie was particularly tired. After just ten minutes, he got up and purposefully limped back to the door of the kennel, and just looked at me.
"It's only been ten minutes, Bungie," I said.
He looked at me.
I took him back in.
Later on I was passing through the row of cages, back from walking someone else, and Bungie got to his feet and tried to jump a little, looking at me.
I know that dogs don't have a sense of time like we do. I know much more than most people about the intelligence of dogs. I have read study after study on canine intelligence or social dynamics. I know that Bungie can't tell the difference between ten minutes and twenty; that as beseeching as he looks, he can't possibly be regretting that our interaction (our us time) was cut short by his desire to lie down in the cool of his kennel.
I know all that.
But what I said was,
"Oh, Bungie," and I opened his kennel and stepped inside.
I didn't take him out again. He didn't want to go. But he did want to be pet, and--
And I fucking lost it, and just spent five minutes saying, "Bungie, I love you, oh, fuck, Bungie, I wish I could take you home."
I wish he wasn't fucking filthy, like every other dog there, so I could have kissed him on the head as I let myself out.
I cannot fucking deal. Let's move on.
Today was the first day since I've started there that I didn't get to work with Bungie. I was five minutes late and I took another dog out first; I don't even know; by the time I was done working through all the pending dogs it was too late, because it was lunch time and lock up was happening so that cleaning could occur. In short: Bungie was locked up, locked in, and no one was allowed to get the keys for another hour, and my shift was past over.
I went and I stood outside the chain link of Bungie's kennel. Earlier that day when he'd seen me, he'd gone to the effort of hauling himself up on two legs, going upright as he leaned against the cage, but now he just stood quietly on all three legs and looked at me. I was making mournful eyes, like I was the one in a cage.
I seriously can't fucking even.
If love is the feeling of wanting to commit bloody murder each time something unfortunate even threatens to happen to your beloved, I love Bungie than most of the boyfriends and girlfriends I've had.
I am pretty sure one of the reasons--the many, many reasons--I cannot possibly ever adopt Bungie is that the moment someone made fun of him, I would punch them in the face. Also, if Bungie does something innocent, but possibly worrisome, like fucking cough, I check him out thoroughly. Immediately. I am sure that if I ever found something actually wrong with him, I would go into fucking hysterics. Also I think my cat would kick his ass, and I don't want to be mad at Loki, ever, really. And Bungie and his skin condition and my boyfriend's asthma and allergies and my cats and my lease on my highrise apartment and I lost my last two dogs to medical issues and I just can't I can't I fucking can't, and I swore up and down that when I finally gave in and got another dog I would get one to be my running partner and I just. Fucking. Can't.
So yes. Bungie gets to be written about first, because he broke me and all my resolve, and being at the shelter was just supposed to be something to do until I found a real job, no big, a way to scope out a reason puppy to adopt, but no. Bungie makes it all fucking personal, and now I love every single dog, I do, and I come home tired and filthy and my shoes are covered in dog piss and my socks are made of mud and my muscles ache and things hurt but oh my fucking god, I want to never stop, but I love Bungie most of all, forever.
Breathe, me. Breathe.
Backstory: I walk/do basic training with dogs at the humane society in my city, and I am a fucking nutcase about dogs, and I think basically everyone should adopt and people who pay breeders lots of money for a puppy are either uninformed (not their fault) or utter fucking assholes (possibly also not their fault, but I am less sympathetic), or live somewhere with an infrastructure that doesn't support the pet adoption process (it happens, all right). This entry isn't really about any of that, though. It's about a dog. One particular dog.
Anyway.
Part I in a probably ongoing series.
BUNGIE
I am pretty sure that if a rampaging grizzly bear cub (look, the cubs are huge, okay) attacked the humane society, I would throw myself in front of Bungie.
Bungie is the coolest fucking dog in the world. No, really. I'm not sure I've ever met a sweeter dog. Bungie's awesome. Bungie also, as you can see, has three legs, but the missing fourth does NOT stop him from being happy all the fucking time. I love Bungie.
Bungie is the one that broke me. I was all, NO, I WILL NOT FALL FOR ANY OF THE DOGS AT THE SHELTER. I WILL BE STRONG.
And I held out for, like, three whole days, I think. Maybe a week? But on the first day, when I was kneeling to get down to face level, and telling Bungie what a good boy he is? Bungie was doing the big dog smile and wiggling into it, and you can just TELL he wants to shake paw to let you know he loves you, but he CAN'T because he'll FALL OVER and RAAAUGGH BUNNNNGIIIE.
He tries, though. You can see his little stump moving. He moves it as he nuzzles you and looks into your eyes.
Despite this, I held out. Sure, okay, I walk Bungie every single time I'm there. Half the time I walk Bungie as soon as I get there. I rage at people who are weird to Bungie. I complain that no one else walks Bungie, although I know that this is now partly because of my blatant favoritism. This is also partly because Bungie has truly foul loose stool, but let's ignore that part for now.
This girl I know, nice little fellow Hispanic girl I've worked with since I started, once complained to me,
"That three legged dog I just took out was all mouthy."
"Which three legged dog?" I said, forced casual. This was before I'd been there long enough to play known favorites. Fuck, this was, like, my first week there. And, yes, there are TWO dogs with three legs. As well as a third dog with a limp.
"The black one," she said.
"What, Bungie?" I said immediately. "Bungie? Bungie, mouthy? Mouthy? Really?"
"No, no, the dog with the limp," the girl said quickly.
I relaxed visibly.
"Avaunt?" I asked, now docile, "Yeah, Avaunt's a little mouthy."
My boyfriend's summary of this story is him crying out, in the mocking falsetto that represents my voice, YOU CALL BUNGIE MOUTHY AGAIN AND I'LL CUT YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!
OR/ALSO: "Little known fact: Archduke Franz Ferdinand once called someone's dog 'mouthy,' and see how that worked out."
But seriously, BUNGIE IS NOT MOUTHY.
(also, I sneaked back in to check the logs to make sure she was, in fact, talking about Avaunt. She was.)
Bungie also has, like, perpetually dry skin. AND BUNGIE IS THE MOST CHEERFUL BUT CALM DOG IN THE WORLD.
He gets around pretty well, actually. His progress isn't smooth, but he kind of hops along at quite a pace. Tripod dogs are better at faster speeds. Still, he gets tired more quickly than the other dogs, especially in the heat, and this is Florida in the fucking summer so the heat is insane, so he doesn't go through the 20-minute exercise regime that I usually inflict on the babies.
The truth is, Bungie can basically do whatever he wants. Bungie is the dog I let walk me: he'll go to whatever play area, I will open the gate, let him in. If he noses the toy box, I open it. If Bungie wants to spend seven minutes lying in the dust chewing on a dog soccer ball, Bungie gets to do that. But mostly Bungie does his business, accepts some love, and goes back to his kennel.
One day Bungie was particularly tired. After just ten minutes, he got up and purposefully limped back to the door of the kennel, and just looked at me.
"It's only been ten minutes, Bungie," I said.
He looked at me.
I took him back in.
Later on I was passing through the row of cages, back from walking someone else, and Bungie got to his feet and tried to jump a little, looking at me.
I know that dogs don't have a sense of time like we do. I know much more than most people about the intelligence of dogs. I have read study after study on canine intelligence or social dynamics. I know that Bungie can't tell the difference between ten minutes and twenty; that as beseeching as he looks, he can't possibly be regretting that our interaction (our us time) was cut short by his desire to lie down in the cool of his kennel.
I know all that.
But what I said was,
"Oh, Bungie," and I opened his kennel and stepped inside.
I didn't take him out again. He didn't want to go. But he did want to be pet, and--
And I fucking lost it, and just spent five minutes saying, "Bungie, I love you, oh, fuck, Bungie, I wish I could take you home."
I wish he wasn't fucking filthy, like every other dog there, so I could have kissed him on the head as I let myself out.
I cannot fucking deal. Let's move on.
Today was the first day since I've started there that I didn't get to work with Bungie. I was five minutes late and I took another dog out first; I don't even know; by the time I was done working through all the pending dogs it was too late, because it was lunch time and lock up was happening so that cleaning could occur. In short: Bungie was locked up, locked in, and no one was allowed to get the keys for another hour, and my shift was past over.
I went and I stood outside the chain link of Bungie's kennel. Earlier that day when he'd seen me, he'd gone to the effort of hauling himself up on two legs, going upright as he leaned against the cage, but now he just stood quietly on all three legs and looked at me. I was making mournful eyes, like I was the one in a cage.
I seriously can't fucking even.
If love is the feeling of wanting to commit bloody murder each time something unfortunate even threatens to happen to your beloved, I love Bungie than most of the boyfriends and girlfriends I've had.
I am pretty sure one of the reasons--the many, many reasons--I cannot possibly ever adopt Bungie is that the moment someone made fun of him, I would punch them in the face. Also, if Bungie does something innocent, but possibly worrisome, like fucking cough, I check him out thoroughly. Immediately. I am sure that if I ever found something actually wrong with him, I would go into fucking hysterics. Also I think my cat would kick his ass, and I don't want to be mad at Loki, ever, really. And Bungie and his skin condition and my boyfriend's asthma and allergies and my cats and my lease on my highrise apartment and I lost my last two dogs to medical issues and I just can't I can't I fucking can't, and I swore up and down that when I finally gave in and got another dog I would get one to be my running partner and I just. Fucking. Can't.
So yes. Bungie gets to be written about first, because he broke me and all my resolve, and being at the shelter was just supposed to be something to do until I found a real job, no big, a way to scope out a reason puppy to adopt, but no. Bungie makes it all fucking personal, and now I love every single dog, I do, and I come home tired and filthy and my shoes are covered in dog piss and my socks are made of mud and my muscles ache and things hurt but oh my fucking god, I want to never stop, but I love Bungie most of all, forever.
Breathe, me. Breathe.