Howie and Me

This is Howie.

Howie belongs to my sister in-law's sister Julie. Julie got married over the weekend (congrats!), and the care and feeding of Howie fell upon me. No problem.

I mean, after all, it's a dog. How hard can it be?

We decided on Thursday night that we would try having Howie over to our house, rather than stay at my brother's house with the dog. It's always easier to stay at your own house, after all, and I mean, it's a dog. How hard could it be?

I went to Joe's house to pick up Howie.

I pulled my car in the garage, and shut the garage door, thinking this would be the easiest way to corral Howie into the car, and not risk a runaway dog. In my head, this seemed like the perfect plan.

I let myself into my Joe's house, greeted Howie, and went to pick up his stuff from the island in the kitchen.

Julie and her fiance Kyle had graciously left us a gift card in exchange for allowing ourselves to be volunteered to watch Howie. So sweet, they are. The gift card said, and I quote, "Thanks so much for watching Howie. Sorry if he's annoying."

'Scuze me? Annoying? Somewhere in between "He's a really good dog, shouldn't be any trouble, blahblahblah" I missed the annoying Howie stories.

I let Howie into the garage, and then grabbed all of his necessary accoutrements - bag o' food, goodies, leash, choke collar, let-out-of-the-house-rope, bed, and blankie. On top of that, I put the garage door opener and key.

Whilst walking out of the door into the garage, my hand slipped and I hit the garage door opener.

So much for the plan that sounded good in my head.

The garage door to the third stall started to open. No problem, I think, hurrying the logistics in my head-there's a lot of stuff in my brother's third stall, and I can probably close the door faster than Howie can get over there to get out.

So I hit the garage door opener button again.

Unfortunately, this opened the main garage door. I hear Howie barking. Outside the door. Swearing ensues. Yelling "Howie! Stop!" ensues. Since I'd just met Howie like 10 minutes before this, I have absolutely no idea whether he listens or not. Based on the gift card note, I was thinking not.

(Allow me to pause here and interject the tale of how, the first time I was left alone with my brother's dog, Jake, he ate a nylon sock 5 minutes in...apparently the first 10 minutes of leaving your dog with me is the most dangerous. I'm like an airplane take-off.)

So, to recap: two garage doors open, one dog on the lam, and zero desire to go searching for a brown dog in the dark in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

I ran to the garage door, which was only open about a foot and a half, got down on my knees, and peered through the opening. Fortunately for me, Howie either understands, "Howie! Stop!" or "Shitshitshitshit" because there he was, in the driveway, looking at me with what I swear was an impish grin, tempting me to go out and chase him.  Dog whisperer that I am, I coaxed him into the garage, and shut him in my car.

Scene: home. Time: that night. Howie paces. And paces. And paces. Weimeraner puppies are energetic. But cute. And flatulent. And why is it that when dogs sleep on your bed, they always face you butt end first?

Flash forward to Saturday night. By then, I had two dogs...the young, spry, pacey Howie, and the older, wiser, less enthusiastic Jake, who, fortunately for me, has somewhat lost his taste for nylon socks. Dogs go out. Dogs come in. Dogs bark at leaves. Dogs go back out. Dogs come back in. Dogs play with each other. Dogs fight with each other. Dogs get yelled at. Dogs and dogsitter collapse on the couch, exhausted from the day. I figured since I had both dogs on the couch, and they were both laying down, sleeping and calm, I'd make it easy on myself and sleep on the couch too. When morning came and they both needed to go out, I let them out, let them in, and then fell asleep in the bed in the downstairs bedroom. Howie and Jake decided to join me, butt end first, of course.

There is very little room left for me when a giant yellow lab and a less giant but still large Weimeraner join me on the bed.

Three hours later, after shushing a whining Howie several times, I get up for good.

I looked around the room. No Howie.

"Jakie, where's Howie?"

I swear, even though he's a dog, I got a look that said, "Who the f*&k cares."

Went into the downstairs family room. No Howie.

Yelled his name. No Howie.  (This was immediately deemed unusual, because wherever I went last weekend, Howie was inches, nay, millimeters, away.)

Went upstairs. No Howie.

Looked in the laundry room, home of food and water. No Howie.

Went back downstairs. Still no Howie.

Asked Jake again, because, you know, dogs get smarter by the minute, and one of these days he's gonna talk, just like that dog on the baked bean commercial. Jake still not interested in finding Howie.

Went back upstairs. Checked for his leash and choke collar, just in case some random bad guy broke into the house and decided the dog needed a walk. Leash and choke collar right where I left them.

Looked at Jake's feet. Looked at the door handle. Looked at Jake's feet. Looked at the door handle. Mentally calculated that the lack of opposable thumbs probably made opening a traditional door handle hard for dogs, and therefore the odds were in my favor that Howie didn't let himself out for a run.

Befuddled, standing on the verge of panicked. I mean, really, I found the dog once. Twice would have been pushing my luck.

Had to pee. Opened the bathroom door.

Two beady brown/green eyes stared back at me, calm as could be. Tail wagging, waiting patiently.

I FOUND HOWIE! A SECOND TIME!

That bathroom door is weighted to close, but not latch shut. Apparently Howie, figuring my sleeping ass wasn't going to get up and let him out, decided to take matters and potty training into his own hands and use the restroom. Once in, the door closed, and presumably he bumped it, shutting himself in the bathroom. Good little dog that he is, he didn't bark, whine, or poop anywhere. Good Howie.

I enjoyed my weekend with Howie. Here are a few things I learned:

1. The smell of dog farts never really leaves your nose.
2. Dogs are, all at the same time, both dumber and smarter than we think they are.
3. Dogs are great alarm clocks.
4. If you have to dogsit, watch one that lives in the central time zone. Although they get you up in the morning, they're an hour behind, so they're getting you up at a more reasonable time.
5. If you have to dogsit, watch one that has been trained by either my brother or my sister in-law's sister and her fiance. Good dogs.
6. Dogs can have attitudes, just as much as people can.
7. I am allergic to Weimeraner's. I also can't spell Weimeraners.
8. Dogs can take the place of heating pads, heaters, and in some instances, throw pillows.
9. Without moving a face muscle, dogs have the funniest facial expressions.
10. Dogs are like kids...fun when they visit, but it's nice to be able to send them home.