Spanky

I'll admit it- I do route my running route past the dog park on McDonald and Hayden. Though I cannot actually go in (I do not own a dog and, not unlike playgrounds, you can't exactly go to a dog park without a canine accessory), I can creepily peer in to watch all of the lucky people who are responsible enough to own and care for a pooch. I can't help it; there's something about watching Labrador Retrievers carousing about, catching a frisbee here and there. Furthermore, there's no denying that Scottsdale has the most beautiful of Golden Retrievers, their silky, Pantene Pro-V worthy pelts glistening in the late afternoon sun.

There are a lot of reasons I cannot have a dog. Mainly, I might forget to feed it, kind of like the way i accidentally leave my laundry in the wash for a week and then have to rewash it because it smells like vomit. Well, if you forget to feed your dog, you don't get a rewash. They are not like cats; they do not have nine lives. Another thing that scares me about having a dog is that I'll come home late one night and leave the screen door open and it will run away to some better patio that has leftover barbeque on it. Sadly, if the dog runs off my patio, it also takes a 15 ft. leap as I live on the second floor. More practically, I have no desire to clean up fecal matter or run on my dog's time clock. Therefore, I must simply admire from afar or take one of two alternative routes: a) pet sitting b) visiting pet shops and pretending to be interested in purchasing pets or c) fawn over other people's pets.

So, I've gone the pet sitting route. As you've read in my previous entries, I once spent a week on Noah's Ark with possibly the most motley crew of creatures. Several years later, I acquiesced to spend two nights with my friend Tom's English Bulldog, Spanky. The dog had such low self esteem it made me depressed. You would too if you had a severe under bite and were a box on sticks. And if the highlight of your day was a stale milk bone.

"fuck that shit, spanky" I said, clipping on his leash, "we're going out on the town! Your dad might be riding some mule in the Grand Canyon but you're in Scottsdale!" And, by out on the town, I meant walking him the 5 blocks his asthmatic body could manage to the pet accessory store, All that Jazz.

The girl who ran the store had some poodle like, freaky looking dogs with mullets and black pride hair cuts (as you might realize, I am a total dog snob, I only like the classic, beauties), but she was super welcoming to our down home boy, Spanky.

"Aren't you a beautiful boy,' she squealed as a 5 inch strand of saliva dangled from his mouth. What a boost for Spanky's self image.

"See!? the nice lady likes you! Someday you'll get a girl of your own," I whispered to him while she went to get some gourmet dog bone samples, "but stay away from that shit," I said motioning toward the bichoodles sitting behind the counter.

Spanky sampled several dog treats: one sprinkled with carob chips (no go), another one that had some sort of peanut butter supplement (no go), and yet another that was of some oatmeal cookie variety with delicious looking icing. Quite frankly, I was breath away from asking the girl if they were an appropriate snack for people. I couldn't understand why this dog was so choosey... geeze... clearly a diet of milk bones had left him with an unsophisticated palate.

The girl ended up giving him some sort of organic jerky that he inhaled in two bites. It was the most expensive of the treats. I had no idea Spanky would turn out to be such a little whore.

Instead of buying him a bag of treats, I decided it would not help his physique to feed him beef jerky, I opted to buy him a new handkerchief print bandana with a red jinglebell on it.

"Handsome," I said to Spank-ster as he clodded along, wheezing heavily. En route home, several attractive men stopped to admire my dog. Despite how ugly he was, Spanky was making me more approachable or, at least, helping my game. In my mind, Spanky was no longer a fat fuck but an excellent wing man. We pranced around town for another twenty minutes or so and then, because the dog was in need of an inhaler, we headed home.

Later that evening, I took Spanky to the dog park with a few of my friends. When we arrived, I desperately wanted to take him into the "high activity" dog run so I could play with the goldens and labs.

"MAG," Erin said warily, "don't you think that will be a bit much for him?" She motioned to a black lab leaping over a collie to snatch a frisbee. She then nodded to the "low activity" dog run, where, clearly, there were only geriatric dogs wearing dumb sweaters.

"Oh, fine," I pouted a little, but then felt bad that I had not been looking out for his best interests, "Low activity it is." Maybe we could find him a cougar (is that what you call old, female dogs? I'm not really sure!).

We entered the retirement community and looked around for the shuffle board courts, handicap rails, and jello. Meanwhile Spanking hobbled over to the side and began puttering around in the rocks.

"Spanky," I yelled, "get over here, I got a girl for you!" I motioned to a tiny, 6 pound nuggety little black dog in a hot pink sweater. Kind of cute, though probably not logistically possible. He turned his head slowly toward me and looked more depressed than usual. He even looked like he was about to cry. Was Spanky completely socially retarded? Was he afraid of girls?

Something twittered in my heart and then I realized it: I was attached to the little fucker.

"Spanky," ran over to the pee rocks, "come here!" I petted him and brought him over on his leash to socialize with other dogs. Curiosity got the best of him and he started sniffing around at the yippy little nugget. Pretty soon, Spanster was romping around and sniffing grass fervently and intermittently with nuzzling Tiny's fuzzy pink bolero. He was almost acting like a normal dog. For a minute, I thought he was a little bit cute. Total Quasimodo syndrome.

After Spanky romped around for a bit, it was time to go. My roommate Noreen had just gotten back into town and was ready for a big night out in Scottsdale.

Back at the apartment, Spanky ate and drank like a real man. The dog had a new swagger. Noreen, nearly ready in a hot pink dress (same color as Tiny's sweater) started blasting that Jai Ho song from Slumdog Millionaire (she would) and dancing around her room while putting lotion on her leg.

Seeing another vision in pink set the little man off. He went running (sort of) down the hall to Noreen's room. I heard her exclaim, "Spaaaaannnkkkkky" in her shrilll falsetto voice, "Coommmee dannnnce with meeeee!!!!"

Well, don't they say ask and you shall receive? Spanky lunged at Noreen and knocked her off her feet, literally. She bit it and fell hard. I heard shrieks from her room and ran down the hall to find Noreen sprawled on the floor and the last chords of Jai Ho playing. Spanky sat on the ground as if nothing had happened.

I looked from fallen Noreen to Spanky sternly. I pointed at him:

"No more organic beef jerky for you, little man."