There are two things I love: Dogs and Kraft Parmesan Cheese. Both are comforting, smell questionable, and generally make everything better. Most people are familiar with my adoration for our four-legged little friends. The cheese situation (as my mom refers to it), is more "private" information. In a typical month, I go through 2-3 containers of parmesan. It is the one item for which, if given the opportunity, I would choose to be the national spokesperson –- In the hopes that it would be accompanied with a lifetime supply.
Today, my two loves collided like never before. Let me set the scene: I’m babysitting two dogs over the holidays. Fizzy and Billy. Its been almost three years since I actually owned a dog, and I guess I forgot a few things: Apparently you shouldn’t leave home with your brand new container of parmesan cheese out on the counter. For one reason, its kinda gross (some say), and secondly, dogs like to get into trouble. This afternoon, Billy took said container, and (I can only imagine), held onto it by his teeth, while he spun around the room; coating the rug, couch and surrounding areas in a thin film of flavored, snow-like goodness. I walked in (after a long day), to the smell of delicious, processed cheese heaven. I could have enjoyed this dream-come-true, had I not been so mad at the little guy cowering in the corner.
I’m not going to lie. And I’m sure I’m not alone when I say, I’ve always secretly fantasized of swimming in a humongous pool of parmesan cheese and money. But, when the parmesan is mixed with dog hair and instead of a pool, you have a 5-year old rug in a tiny NYC apt, its not as glamorous. Add a broken vacuum to the mix, and you are well near disaster.
While I was very upset, I couldn't hold back my pride in Billy's targeted object of choice. If nothing else, he has good taste. And maybe I could learn something from him...Instead of simply "dreaming of the day" he could roll around in parmesan cheese...Billy picked a day and made it happen. He's a smart little guy...and a dog after my own heart.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Things are looking up
It's a great little world we live in...
I've just been added as a columnist for HousePetMagazine -- a wonderful website dedicated to the health and well-being of dogs everywhere!
To check it out, go to www.housepetmagazine.com and look for "Mirra's Corner" (in the Departments Section).
I've just been added as a columnist for HousePetMagazine -- a wonderful website dedicated to the health and well-being of dogs everywhere!
To check it out, go to www.housepetmagazine.com and look for "Mirra's Corner" (in the Departments Section).
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Food Fight
I’m not a competitive person. That’s probably why I didn't excel on the swim team in high school. Well, that and the fact that "belly-flop-splash-and-try-not-to-drown" is not yet a respected stroke. In any case, I hate feeling like I’m in competition.. especially when its one-on-one. Which makes my walks with Clifford (the big, red, 90-lb bundle of love) a bit more trying.
Clifford and I have our differences. 1. he has feelings for me that I cannot reciprocate. 2. he is rather large, and 3. he has got the appetite of a walrus in heat (I hear they get very hungry during that time). Now compare that to me: I’m not interested in a romantic relationship; I'm what you would call "petite" (I've often been compared to the hobbit in Lord of the Rings); and I’m an extremely picky eater. I "graze", as my mother would put it...and you cant get me to eat just anything.
Not so, for Clifford. Cliff will eat anything that walks in front of his path. He's like Pac-man on steroids: Day-old sandwiches, candy, chicken -- there were even a few times when he just licked the sidewalk. And unlike me, he will not make a fuss if a piece of chicken has bones in it, or if a piece of bread was touching a homeless person. He will eat anything, and in its entirety.
Obviously, this is not the best diet for a dog to uphold. Eating an entire rack of lamb (bones and all) is, beyond impressive, also utterly disgusting. My job as his dog walker and friend, is to notice the food before he does, and steer clear. But its not an easy task when competing with the largest and most gifted scavenger this side of the Mississippi. He will spot the food that is camouflaged, hidden under rocks, shadowed, obscure and just overall concealed. Trust me, if the WMD's were chicken-flavored, Cliff would have found them months ago.
My job, is a difficult one. Each day, I slap on my leather grip mittens, secure my head gear, and slick my hair back into a tight ponytail. Then, comes the most important step; The key to whether or not I will win the day's challenge, or forfeit cowardly to my hairy opponent: The leash wrap-around. Ill slowly stick my hand inside the leash loop and gently wind it around my entire arm, behind my back, around my waist and then back around the other arm. If there's extra leash, I may wind it around my forehead "Rambo" style. I’ve mastered it just so... that if I do the whole thing really fast, it sort of looks like I’m playing with numchucks.
Only then am I ready. And at that moment, Clifford and I are no longer dog and dog walker. But intense opponents... Just trying to get the job done.
Most days, Ill catch Clifford before he dives for food. Ill figure it out just in time and plant myself, skid forward a bit and then come to a stop... leaving only inches between his nose and the half piece of day-old pie on the sidewalk. Those days I feel like a hero.
And then there are other days. The ones where we'll be almost finished with our walk, Ill be ready to pat myself on the back for a job well done.. and then out of nowhere, Cliff will subtly and inconspicuously grab a full leg of lamb out from under a nearby bush. Since I’m not inclined to stick my hand inside his whale size jaws, Ill just have to sit there and watch him eat the entire thing in front of me. And he will take his sweet time: licking his paws, chewing really slowly and making joyful "ugh this is soo good" noises as he finishes it off. Those are the days that get me.
For a non-competitive person, I am a horribly sore loser. I can only seek solace in the fact that I’m getting better each day. At the beginning of this journey, Clifford would look at his walk as an all access pass to Old Country Buffet. Today, he looks at it as a challenge. The fact that I am am able to challenge, quite possibly, the most courageous eater in the world, makes me feel proud.
Clifford and I have our differences. 1. he has feelings for me that I cannot reciprocate. 2. he is rather large, and 3. he has got the appetite of a walrus in heat (I hear they get very hungry during that time). Now compare that to me: I’m not interested in a romantic relationship; I'm what you would call "petite" (I've often been compared to the hobbit in Lord of the Rings); and I’m an extremely picky eater. I "graze", as my mother would put it...and you cant get me to eat just anything.
Not so, for Clifford. Cliff will eat anything that walks in front of his path. He's like Pac-man on steroids: Day-old sandwiches, candy, chicken -- there were even a few times when he just licked the sidewalk. And unlike me, he will not make a fuss if a piece of chicken has bones in it, or if a piece of bread was touching a homeless person. He will eat anything, and in its entirety.
Obviously, this is not the best diet for a dog to uphold. Eating an entire rack of lamb (bones and all) is, beyond impressive, also utterly disgusting. My job as his dog walker and friend, is to notice the food before he does, and steer clear. But its not an easy task when competing with the largest and most gifted scavenger this side of the Mississippi. He will spot the food that is camouflaged, hidden under rocks, shadowed, obscure and just overall concealed. Trust me, if the WMD's were chicken-flavored, Cliff would have found them months ago.
My job, is a difficult one. Each day, I slap on my leather grip mittens, secure my head gear, and slick my hair back into a tight ponytail. Then, comes the most important step; The key to whether or not I will win the day's challenge, or forfeit cowardly to my hairy opponent: The leash wrap-around. Ill slowly stick my hand inside the leash loop and gently wind it around my entire arm, behind my back, around my waist and then back around the other arm. If there's extra leash, I may wind it around my forehead "Rambo" style. I’ve mastered it just so... that if I do the whole thing really fast, it sort of looks like I’m playing with numchucks.
Only then am I ready. And at that moment, Clifford and I are no longer dog and dog walker. But intense opponents... Just trying to get the job done.
Most days, Ill catch Clifford before he dives for food. Ill figure it out just in time and plant myself, skid forward a bit and then come to a stop... leaving only inches between his nose and the half piece of day-old pie on the sidewalk. Those days I feel like a hero.
And then there are other days. The ones where we'll be almost finished with our walk, Ill be ready to pat myself on the back for a job well done.. and then out of nowhere, Cliff will subtly and inconspicuously grab a full leg of lamb out from under a nearby bush. Since I’m not inclined to stick my hand inside his whale size jaws, Ill just have to sit there and watch him eat the entire thing in front of me. And he will take his sweet time: licking his paws, chewing really slowly and making joyful "ugh this is soo good" noises as he finishes it off. Those are the days that get me.
For a non-competitive person, I am a horribly sore loser. I can only seek solace in the fact that I’m getting better each day. At the beginning of this journey, Clifford would look at his walk as an all access pass to Old Country Buffet. Today, he looks at it as a challenge. The fact that I am am able to challenge, quite possibly, the most courageous eater in the world, makes me feel proud.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Monkey Boy
I decided to go eat brunch by myself last weekend. Not "decided" as much as "no one would call me back". It was really nice. I went to this little restaurant around the corner from my house -- actually one of my favorite places. They have the best cheese grits in the world (Please note: rating system is based on my discovery of grits two months ago...at this exact cafe). Add those grits to a seat at the bar, with a hot cup of coffee, a biscuit and the paper.. and you've got yourself a nice little set-up.
And nothing could have made it better than when the door opened to a middle-aged man toting an 11-year old mix breed dog. The music screeched to a halt. And within seconds, everyone -- previously deeply engrossed in intelligent convesation -- had put down their forks, napkins and glasses of OJ, and were now on the floor, cooing and overall molesting the little guy.
The owner was beaming with utter delight. And then, in an unfortunate turn, he decided the overabundance of attention was not enough, and it was "dog trick" time. Now, why in the hell would you decide that its a good idea to stop by a random cafe and perform a variety show with your dog? The man didnt want money... or not that I noticed. He was just looking for the fame that commonly accompanies being able to train your dog to balance food on his nose. Fido was being exploited. And it pissed me off.
I dont like when people do it with their children and I hate when they do it with their dogs. Who cares whether or not the dog can turn in circles, balance on his hind legs, or even bake a souffle to perfection? What about his overall quality of life? He's not a little plastic puppet on which you should take out your insecurities. This man was living vicariously through his overachieving pup. And the only person who really seemed to enjoy it was him. Everyone else just wanted to see Fido be a dog, not a monkey boy.
And nothing could have made it better than when the door opened to a middle-aged man toting an 11-year old mix breed dog. The music screeched to a halt. And within seconds, everyone -- previously deeply engrossed in intelligent convesation -- had put down their forks, napkins and glasses of OJ, and were now on the floor, cooing and overall molesting the little guy.
The owner was beaming with utter delight. And then, in an unfortunate turn, he decided the overabundance of attention was not enough, and it was "dog trick" time. Now, why in the hell would you decide that its a good idea to stop by a random cafe and perform a variety show with your dog? The man didnt want money... or not that I noticed. He was just looking for the fame that commonly accompanies being able to train your dog to balance food on his nose. Fido was being exploited. And it pissed me off.
I dont like when people do it with their children and I hate when they do it with their dogs. Who cares whether or not the dog can turn in circles, balance on his hind legs, or even bake a souffle to perfection? What about his overall quality of life? He's not a little plastic puppet on which you should take out your insecurities. This man was living vicariously through his overachieving pup. And the only person who really seemed to enjoy it was him. Everyone else just wanted to see Fido be a dog, not a monkey boy.
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