Animal Torture

On Sunday The Funasaurus had to work, so I had the brilliant (?) idea to take a little (three mile) stroll to Einstein Bagels and get us a little breakfast while he furiously wrote an 11 page memo. Because, well, he is weirdly capable of writing an 11 page memo on a glorious Sunday morning. And I was craving a strawberry bagel.

So I take my cell phone, because as nice as the fresh air and nature are, I am not sure I can entertain myself the whole way. On the other hand, I am very aware of THE BEES, now, so I walked a good two blocks before I broke down and called M out of sheer boredom.

We had a great conversation, M was in the middle of explaining how her darling daughter has developed a little chomping habit (as in, chomping on mom's hand when things don't go her way) as I walked through a green park when suddenly I saw a wolf running towards me.

So. That's kind of unnerving. I mean, I was in a park, surrounded by suburbia. I looked around, hoping the wolf was perhaps, you know, tame, and being followed by a human with an invisible leash. Sadly, the wolf and I were alone on the green belt (since the miniature trees and struggling weeds surrounded by sidewalks and houses can barely be construed as a “park”) and it was barreling towards me, gnashing its teeth. (That, or panting, seeing as how it was in quite the gallop. But I have a tendency for fearing the worst.)

“Hi puppy,” I offered, telling myself to suck it up, at least Red Riding Hood-esque would be a novel (ha ha, I kill myself) way to go.

“What?” said M, probably confused as to my sudden canine greeting, in the midst of her story about her daughter in the bathtub.

I let her go on, as I continued to imagine my death by fangs. As it got closer, though, I realized that it was not a wolf, but a long-legged, very wet husky. The drenched, matted fur just made his long legs look even longer and svelte.

Well, sweet. I used to have a dog that was part-malamute. I can handle big snow dogs. I just can't handle the wild packs of hungry carnivores. So the very wet husky came over and shook himself at me, drenching my cute white shoes, but otherwise leaving me fairly unscathed. He followed me for a while, and I got a dirty look from a passing family, as though I was the owner of this disgraceful, un-leashed dog. And while: not mine, folks! I almost wished he was, because I'm pretty sure I saw their purebred poodle ROLL HIS EYES at us. Soak him, Fang. (For at this point, I had named him.)

So that was the main event of my weekend. Other than being taken to the aquarium by The Funasaurus for dinner, which, admittedly, I wasn't sure what to expect, but I have to say, it's kind of thrilling to look at the fish, and then eat them. It was really fun. They even have seahorses now, which are like, my favoritest animal ever. (Next to goats, belugas, my cats, and penguins.) So I'm always excited to see some swimming around, floating from algae to algae stalk, mating for life, and whatnot.

Unfortunately, today was much worse, starting with a trip to the vet, for which Sugar has still not forgiven me. Tatum was so scared I actually felt bad for the little, stiff lump of what is normally pure evil, but today was just a shivering pile of unbearably pitiful cuteness. Although he was easy to trick, the vet offered him a mushy bit of meat-flavored goo, and the goat in him came out and was like, “oooh, yummy!” as the vet poked him in the butt with the rabies shot. He didn't even notice.

Sugar, on the other hand, NOTICED.

And fuck y'all, Sugar was GOING HOME, so HELP HER! motherfuckers.

Oh she was a very angry kitty. And kept escaping into her traveling crate, and I kept trying to coax her out, all, “Here princess! Here, Kitty Kitty!” And the vet tech, after about attempt #462 got a wee bit impatient, and was a little more... firm, and yanked her out by the scruff of her neck which IS SO NOT HOW SUGAR ROLLS, and Sugar proceeded to cuss that bitch out, which was hysterical, but I couldn't laugh because of the daggers of death that she was shooting me from her over sized big brown pupils. So I snickered, instead, and Sugar has decided to hate me forevermore.

Which, you know, sucks. Because I love her, and like to cuddle her, although she is having None of It right now, and even turned her back on me when I turned on her little heat pad that she likes to rest on. But I have decided to do Not Much about it, because she has to go back next week to get her teeth cleaned, and hoo boy, I am so not sure she will come home with me after that.

Poor thing. If only she knew, she would have WILLED that wet dog into being the famished, princess-hungry wolf that I had originally imagined it to be.