Keeping with the stories about my dog, here is a great one about a long night before Heather was born. Orson and his son Roscoe (we call him Moochie) are as much alike as any father and son can be. They are similar in appearance; big broad shoulders, partially graying hair, and a sinister looking cooked grin. Like the sort of guys you would see hanging out in a junkyard scaring off any potential customers. Even though they both snore and talk in their sleep, they’re my boys, and I love them.
They do have their differences though, Orson is six foot five and weighs a little over 300 pounds and Moochie is only about two feet tall weighing in at about eighty pounds. But the most noticeable difference is that Moochie walks on four legs. Yes, my stepson is a dog.
* * *
Moochie’s favorite thing in the world was riding in the car, (after eating and sleeping of course). Whenever I went out for quick trips I let him ride with me, and especially if I was going out for ice cream. One evening while sitting in our small living room, my husband decided that it was absolutely necessary for me to go to the Dairy Ranch for some ice cream.
“Honey, will you go to the Ranch?” My husband drawled in his deep southern voice.
After taking my husband’s order for a Butterfinger blizzard I began putting my shoes on. As I slid my left foot into my old beat up Nike sandal, Moochie (who was supposedly sleeping), lazily opened one of his white ringed eyes to see what I was up to. When my right foot found my other flip-flop, the second eye opened and his black ears popped into their “alert position”. The jingle of my collection of keys, had him up, wagging what would have been his tail (if he had one), while making his way to the door.
I opened the door, and he sprang through it with the enthusiasm of a kid who knows that they are going to get some ice cream. When we reached my car I opened the door and waited for him to get in.
“Come on Moochie, let’s go.” I begged him. I tried to provide words of encouragement to him hoping he would drag his rear end into the car. He stretched his long body across the front seat of the car and pulled his rear leg up as far as he could struggling to find purchase on the door sill.
Even though my black four door family sedan was reasonably low to the ground, my dog always struggled to get into it. Moochie suffers from Hip Dysplasia a common disability in large breed dogs that is very painful and restricts their mobility. So even though my car was less than two feet off of the ground, once Moochie got his front paws into the car, his ass was my responsibility.
Deciding to end his ridicule, I picked up my ninety pound dogs’ rear legs and placed them in the car for him. I made my way around to the drivers’ side of the car, placed my key in the ignition and turned. Nothing. “Huh?” I thought to myself, I tried turning the key again, still nothing. Apparently my battery was dead, but finding out why wasn’t important. Right then, I had one mission, and that was ice cream. I got out of the car, holding the door open as a signal for Moochie to exit the vehicle as well.
“Come on, mommy’s car isn’t working.” I explained to him, his black eyes shining in the darkness. His head dropped to his paws and he looked at me in a way that said “lady, you know that I ain’t movin’”. Once Moochie got in the car, he was going for a ride. It might have been just around the block, but he enjoyed hanging his head out of the window so he could feel the breeze in his fur. He would not exit the vehicle until he has accomplished this.
“Come on Moochie, let’s go for a ride in Daddy’s truck.” I cooed in my sweetest voice. No response, so I tried the direct approach. “Moochie get—out—of—the—car—now!” I said in a voice so low and menacing it sounded like a growl. A blank stare is the only response I received. I finally accepted the fact that the situation was going to require some sort of bribe, and so began the marathon between my kitchen and my car.
First, I got a large piece of cheese out of the refrigerator, his favorite, but strictly forbidden. We tried not to let Moochie have dairy, because it gave him the kind of gas that could be used to fumigate a small house, like mine... I placed the cheese on the drivers’ seat of the car, certain that this would entice him to get out of the car. The look I received was nothing short of a challenge,
“You are going to have to do better than that” his noncommittal stare said to me. Storming back towards the house I brushed past my husband with a glare. He was watching this whole thing from the safety of the door, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back his hysterics.
“He’s your dog, you get him out if you think it is so funny.” I snapped as I walked into the kitchen. My next attempt was much more substantial; I had not one but two Nathan’s natural casing hot dogs. I mean come on the word dog was in the name, this has to work.
“Mooo . . . chie. Look at what mommy has. Mmm, a yummy hot dog.” His half hearted attempt to retrieve one of the hot dogs spoke volumes.
“Mom, I would love to eat that hot dog, but I am not getting out of this car.” His annoyed look said.
Satisfied that he had communicated his distaste for my bribe, he laid his head back on his honey wheat colored paws. Two or three trips to the fridge and back carrying a variety of foods proved fruitless.
“Fine sleep in the car you stubborn brat!” I yelled. He could sleep in the damned car for all I cared; I was getting some ice cream.
* * *
The Dairy Ranch was the redneck version of Dairy Queen. The nice thing about the redneck ice cream parlor was that it was so close to my house. The downside is it only gives me a few minutes to decide what I am going to have before I get there. In their barn shaped building they served ice cream and those blizzard like things in all of the required flavors like M&M’s and Butterfinger. They even had a greasy grill for those brave enough to order real food, and a few rickety tables being supported by sugar packets for those customers wishing to dine in.
“What can I get you?” asked the teenager behind the counter, as I walked into the barn shaped building.
“I need two Reeces Peanut Butter Cup blizzards please, and a cup of vanilla for my dog.”
“We have these little kiddie cups for the dogs that are free, would you rather have that? The small cup will cost you a dollar fifty.” She asked me, holding up a small paper cup the size of a thimble. The kind most places use for samples.
“Umm no thank you, that would just piss him off.” I responded with a chuckle. “I have an eighty pound Rottweiler, and he would probably eat that in one bite, cup and all.”
“You are probably right.” She replied reaching for the things she needed to fill my order.
Loaded down with ice cream for the whole family, I drove the three and a half minutes back to my house. When I pulled into the carport I looked over to where my car was parked and didn’t see Moochie, so I figured my husband had been able to coax him out of the car. When I entered the house, his large black form was noticeably missing from my tan carpeted living room.
“Is he in his bed sulking?” I asked my husband as I handed him his ice cream.
“No, he is still in the car.” He said laughing.
“I am so over this, I know what will work.” I said as I opened the door to the hall closet.
“How many times have I heard that tonight” My husband mumbled, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Bite me” I said as I retrieved the only thing my big fat baby of a dog is scared of. This was going to be my last trip out to my car tonight.
“If this doesn’t work, I’m going to bed” I said to my husband as I went back outside.
“You see this?” I said waving the small hand vacuum in front of the dog.
“I am going to turn this on and suck your big butt into this little itty bitty canister if you do not get out of my car right now.” I said menacingly. No response, so with the flip of a switch my little hand-vac roared into life, close enough to get him to move from the passenger’s seat to the driver’s seat, but no farther.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” I said. My patience spent. Sick of the game, I literally stuck the roaring vacuum cleaner on his butt, and all I saw was a black streak shoot out of my car and into the house with a yelp and a whimper.
“I suppose you want your ice cream now.” I asked, finally able to sit down and eat my melted ice cream. His crooked smile and wiggling butt gave me my answer.
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