Monday, November 19, 2007

That's My Boy

Wednesday night, it was time for Boss’ first visit to the vet.

Like any new parents, Chris and I decided it would be best to go together. We both had other things to do but neither wanted to miss this first trip to the vet. What would the vet say? Would he confirm our suspicions that Boss is gifted, the next canine member of the Mensa Society having already met the major milestones of puppies in less than 5 days?

We take Boss for a very exciting car ride in his Sherpa bag. He loves this bag. The other night he was running around the house. He had free range of the entire lower level. When he went missing, I tracked a rustling noise and found Boss popping up like a prairie dog out of his Sherpa bag.

Boss is in the waiting room and it’s time to put him on the scale. He weighs in at 3.3 lbs. Not only smart but slim. If he can keep the pounds off (in other words stay away from the people food) all the bitches will go gaga over him for sure.

We check in with the receptionist and hand her a bag of crap. Nice greeting, eh? But it was her request. Do you have the stool sample. Why yes, we saved it all day just for you. Let it fester in our garage. Here you go. Wow, that’s a lot of poop for a little dog, she says. Did you expect any less? I think the same about myself and I’m little. What we lack in size make up for in output.

We are called into the room and wait for the vet. Boss runs around sniffing the floor for remnants of other dogs. We put him on the metal table and wait for the vet to visit. A short while later, the vet enters the room.

“So, we have Bobo here?”

Whoa. W-h-o-a. Bobo? Bobo? My ears perk up. Boss on the other hand is still running around. He doesn’t respond to Bobo and I don’t blame him. My dog may be tiny and a toy breed but this is not a Bobo. You see, bobo is the Spanish word for someone stupid, someone you might call a clown. I don’t like clowns and there is nothing clown-like about my dog. Not Bobo. Boss. Say it like you mean it – BOSS.

I correct the vet and he mentions something about an old label on Boss’ folder. He quickly befriends Boss with treats. This is the easy way to Boss’ heart. You feed him. But it doesn’t last. Boss will use you like a cheap towel if you have food. Wipe his feet all over you. But it doesn’t last. It’s love that endures. And a very warm lap.

The vet asks us about Boss’ first few days. They have gone well, quite well. Boss has adjusted to our household, adjusted to frequent trips outside, and his worst infractions thus far have been stealing a sock and crapping on Chris’ laptop screen (how could you not laugh?). So, with all considering, his past few days have been ok.

The vet takes a look at Boss, sizes him up. Says that at most he’ll be 5 lbs. Healthy eyes, ears, paws. But the legs. Not the legs of a Chihuahua he says. You see, Boss doesn’t prance. Actually I think he knows better. I’m not raising a dandy prancer so there is no need to prance. But I guess Chihuahuas like the prance. Boss on the other hand – he hauls ass. I’ve never seen any dog run like this. He gets a running start and revs his engine with his two front legs. The back legs simply go along for the ride and this explains why more often than not his back legs skid sending him sailing across the wooden floors (still slippery after Chris’ Pledge cleaning incident, by the way).

But it wasn’t just the imposter legs. There are other parts of Boss that make him seem not so pure (bred). Boss is too long. The vet looks at him more closely and concludes that what we have here is a Corg- chi. Part Chihuahua, part Corgi which makes for one very intelligent dog (the vet didn’t say that but I just had a hunch).

So what does this mean for Boss? Does he need to eat different food? Will he have a different life? Should we tell him or does he already know? So many questions. One thing is sure. Boss is not pure bred. I wonder if we were misled or if this works to our advantage. I think about calling Boss’ breeder and saying you better keep your Chihuahuas in check because they are getting around. And I wonder if it was Boss’ mom (easy) or Boss’ dad (go dog) – who got a little kennel fever and decided to try another breed.

Either way the result was one very cute Corg – chi although I’m not about to call Boss that any time soon. Because naming Boss was something that was so sure. Boss came from a breeder that goes by the name of Count Chocula’s Chihuahuas. This had all sorts of implications for naming the dog (not only that but the thought of Boss being bred by someone in a cape is both scary and cool) - BooBerry, Frankenboo, Cocoa Puff or other cereal names. None seemed to fit quite as well as Boss.

After a few more questions we confirm that Boss has kennel cough. And Giardia. Poor little guy. But I guess these are the hazards of being in a kennel. You catch coughs from other dogs and there are consequences to eating your own shit.

The cure – meds. Boss needs meds. I’m thinking Boss should be on a health care plan because dog antibiotics are not cheap and when he puked up the first dose (It’s peanut butter flavored, he’ll love it….barf…..all over the leather couch) I thought we cannot afford to keep medicating this dog.

Last thing the vet does is check that Boss is really a boy. After a hesitation that there was only one there, he confirms that Boss is a fully loaded male dog.....not for long.

This past weekend was my first weekend away from Boss. It was hard. Chris sent me a picture of him via phone and I looked at it off and on all day. I missed my Boss. When I called Chris on Sunday night the first thing I asked about was the dog.

“How is Boss?” I asked.

“He is just like you,” Chris says. Of course. Chris explains that he keeps throwing Boss’ toys all around the house and Boss keeps putting them all in one place. A tidy dog. Cleaning up after himself.

That's my boy.

I told Chris before I left Boss and I had a talk. You see, Boss, I can only handle one messy man in this house and Chris takes that spot. So if you’re going to stick around you’ve got to learn to clean up after yourself, love coffee, and poo in the right spot. Clearly he’s got the cleaning down. And the poo – that will come in time. But the coffee thing - that will take some work for sure.

1 comment:

Benson said...

I love this puppy story.
How about some pics of the BOSS?