My Pooch, Mitzi Boots
Begin...
The pain in my neck is worse now, its 3 am, my head is pounding and my heart takes what seems like forever between beats…
I haven’t felt this is a long time, anxiety, a sort of panic in slow motion.
I’m sleepless…but my dog at the end of my bed sleeps easily.
Her presence at night has always been calming…she’s getting older and I’m terrified of losing her.
When I wake up to her by my trusted stuffed bear at the end of my bed, taking even steady breaths, she’s still here with me.
The noises at night that I sometimes hear brings the fast paced panic that I rarely experience, then when I look to her and see that she’s awake and listening too, I am calmed.
Much like my older brother, if there was anything to worry about she’d be the first to let you know.
Sometimes I laugh at her because she still has the eagerness of a puppy, though she is an old, old dog.
She follows me everywhere during the day, dodging stacks of books and winding through the maze of boxes that fill our house. Another temporary move has us in a small southern ranch…after the two staircases in our old New England home that she followed me up and down 16 times a day I’m just glad she gets a break. Now only having the up’s and down’s from the floor to my bed, and when my mom is coming, very quickly, from my bed to the floor.
The click of her nails on the wood floors echo my footsteps.
To the kitchen, from the kitchen, to my room , the bathroom, she follows me into the rooms and after determining I’ll be more than a minutes, she curls up on the floor for a nap, falling asleep on the job.
She’s my pooch, kind of a cast off pooch, since my older brother begged for a puppy when he was 13 and I was just 6. Yes, he gave the whole spiel about watering and walking her and taking care of every little thing to my parents, and yes they fell for it (Thank God.)
He named her Mitzi Boots, the Boots part because of her white paws, and they tromped in the snow together. He kept her curled up in his lap till she was too big, and when he left home, she stayed.
It’s not like he doesn’t love her as his dog, when he comes for visits he always steps in the door and after being mobbed like some kind of celebrity by my family,
“Where’s my pup??” he always asks, and she’s always there with the rest of us, peeking out from behind my legs, saying hi with a wag for just a moment before looking up at me, asking very pleadingly with her eyes if we’ve had enough of this, and don’t I want to go to the bed room now and listen to some music so she can nap by me in safety and peace? And most times I do just that.
Because she’s my safety and peace when I need it most, and when I’m away from her I feel the same kind of franticness she must feel, maybe not right away, but I do.
I’ve been on ‘vacation’ for over a week now, and I miss her to tears, on car rides she’s always next to me, head on my leg waiting for me to wake her when it’s over and we’ve reached our final destination. (our final destination, not a rest stop, not a store, not the V-E-T which we have to say backwards and call ‘The Tev’ because even when we spell it out she knows what we’re saying.)
She’s my watch dog, my comfort friend who doesn’t spill secrets; she’s my reassurance, and my sneaky baby scaredycat. She’s scared of loud noises, our house cats. (Who even I have to admit are quite threatening, more than once I’ve spotted my little brother running through the living room screaming his head off being chased, chased, by my mothers cat ‘Kitty’)
Come spring, Mitzi, part Britney Spaniel & our trusty bird dog, when confronted with an injured baby robin we were rehabilitating hopping towards her across the grass, she yelped and ran, cowering behind the back deck and then slunk safely to the back door, begging to be let inside to hide under my bed.
She is not a park dog, never has been, and never will be, her time outside is limited to a short romp and finding the perfect place to relieve herself.
At night I sometimes wake to her perched over me nudging my face with hers
“Do you want to go out?” I ask sleepily and she somehow manages to do her crazy wiggle ‘yes’ dance without falling off my bed. (Something I’m sure even I can’t do)
So I let her outside, my head resting against the doorframe, waiting to let her back in after she’s finished, sometimes I head for the bathroom myself knowing that if I give her two minutes she’ll be at the door by the time I get back to the door.
It was maybe 30 seconds before my eager pup was waiting on the front porch, surprised I let her in, only to have her nearly run me over in a mad dash to kitchen, because she knows that after she goes out she gets a little treat. A little bit of cheese from my midnight snack, a little bit of ham (compliments of my dad’s lunchmeat selection) or maybe a lick of my ice cream. It took about a week of these 4am bathroom breaks for me to realize that she didn’t do anything but take a little romp right past the front walk and then double back. She was waking me up every single night of the week for her little snack but she knew she had to go outside first to get it.
So that was her little pretend, mine was that I wasn’t annoyed out of my head because it took me AN HOUR to go back to sleep while she curled up next to me, content and snoring, within 5 minutes. Finally after a week and my slow sleuthing skills, when she woke me up the next night, I let her out and she barely stepped off the front porch before she was back at the door perky and hungry, ready to trample me to get to the kitchen first so she could wait eagerly by the refrigerator.
I followed her to the kitchen then calmly went to the pantry and pulled down her box of milk bones, pulling one out and offering it to her. I’ve never felt so scorned in my entire life, first I was given a look of confusion as she didn’t even bother to sniff it, she knew what it was, what she didn’t know was why was I trying to give it to her?
She paused a second and then turned and trotted out of the kitchen.
When I got back to my room she was laying curled up by my bed, obviously sore at my turncoat ways. I shrugged and went back to bed; at 4:56, as soon as I’d really gotten back to sleep she was nudging my face.
No, she didn’t bother to step off the porch, she didn’t trample me on the way in but stopped to make sure I was following her the whole way to the kitchen, and when she got there, she sat in front of the fridge ready not to budge till she had gotten her snack. Her real snack.
I gave in. What could I do? She’s my pooch, my sneaky baby scaredycat. And after that night it became an understanding right then and there as I sat at the table at 5 am sharing my buttered toast with her. We would forget about this little incident and it wouldn’t happen again.
Now, it’s only every now and then, she wakes me up for our own little midnight snack...
More recently when my brother visits he brings someone along, His FiancĂ©, and while this is new to all of us we’re pretty okay with it. She’s nice to my pooch and in return my pooch mainly ignores her. What caught us all off guard was when my brothers’ soon to be wife announced that after the wedding they were taking my pooch to live with them.
I manage to only sit and stare at my soon to be sister-in-law, speechless.
They…were taking…My pooch.
Or they thought they were…my mouth finally found words and I as I shook my head I said them without even thinking.
“In hell bitch!”
Even with the picture of my surprised mothers gaping mouth in my mind, that’s still exactly how I feel about it.
I’d never label an animal something as degrading as “mine.” If they didn’t feel the same way about it, but Mitzi Boots is my dog, as much as I’m her girl.
Even now when my brother comes for a visit and brings his FiancĂ©, Mitzi doesn’t bother to leave my room. My soon to be sister in law looks me straight in the eye and politely inquires as to the whereabouts of my brothers’ dog.
“She doesn’t like strangers” I say truthfully with a shrug before I walk away, knowing they’ll never take her from me.
I’ll never let them…
My heart is beating normally now, it has to be close to 4 am, Mitzi is staring at me with her large brown eyes…there’s a pang in my heart at the thought of maybe losing her…if not to old age then to my brother and that witch…
But as Mitzi comes to curl up next to me, already back asleep as I reach to stoke her soft tan fur, I know two things.
Mitzi Boots is my pooch…I love her.
And two…
Damn I’m hungry for some toast.
I haven’t felt this is a long time, anxiety, a sort of panic in slow motion.
I’m sleepless…but my dog at the end of my bed sleeps easily.
Her presence at night has always been calming…she’s getting older and I’m terrified of losing her.
When I wake up to her by my trusted stuffed bear at the end of my bed, taking even steady breaths, she’s still here with me.
The noises at night that I sometimes hear brings the fast paced panic that I rarely experience, then when I look to her and see that she’s awake and listening too, I am calmed.
Much like my older brother, if there was anything to worry about she’d be the first to let you know.
Sometimes I laugh at her because she still has the eagerness of a puppy, though she is an old, old dog.
She follows me everywhere during the day, dodging stacks of books and winding through the maze of boxes that fill our house. Another temporary move has us in a small southern ranch…after the two staircases in our old New England home that she followed me up and down 16 times a day I’m just glad she gets a break. Now only having the up’s and down’s from the floor to my bed, and when my mom is coming, very quickly, from my bed to the floor.
The click of her nails on the wood floors echo my footsteps.
To the kitchen, from the kitchen, to my room , the bathroom, she follows me into the rooms and after determining I’ll be more than a minutes, she curls up on the floor for a nap, falling asleep on the job.
She’s my pooch, kind of a cast off pooch, since my older brother begged for a puppy when he was 13 and I was just 6. Yes, he gave the whole spiel about watering and walking her and taking care of every little thing to my parents, and yes they fell for it (Thank God.)
He named her Mitzi Boots, the Boots part because of her white paws, and they tromped in the snow together. He kept her curled up in his lap till she was too big, and when he left home, she stayed.
It’s not like he doesn’t love her as his dog, when he comes for visits he always steps in the door and after being mobbed like some kind of celebrity by my family,
“Where’s my pup??” he always asks, and she’s always there with the rest of us, peeking out from behind my legs, saying hi with a wag for just a moment before looking up at me, asking very pleadingly with her eyes if we’ve had enough of this, and don’t I want to go to the bed room now and listen to some music so she can nap by me in safety and peace? And most times I do just that.
Because she’s my safety and peace when I need it most, and when I’m away from her I feel the same kind of franticness she must feel, maybe not right away, but I do.
I’ve been on ‘vacation’ for over a week now, and I miss her to tears, on car rides she’s always next to me, head on my leg waiting for me to wake her when it’s over and we’ve reached our final destination. (our final destination, not a rest stop, not a store, not the V-E-T which we have to say backwards and call ‘The Tev’ because even when we spell it out she knows what we’re saying.)
She’s my watch dog, my comfort friend who doesn’t spill secrets; she’s my reassurance, and my sneaky baby scaredycat. She’s scared of loud noises, our house cats. (Who even I have to admit are quite threatening, more than once I’ve spotted my little brother running through the living room screaming his head off being chased, chased, by my mothers cat ‘Kitty’)
Come spring, Mitzi, part Britney Spaniel & our trusty bird dog, when confronted with an injured baby robin we were rehabilitating hopping towards her across the grass, she yelped and ran, cowering behind the back deck and then slunk safely to the back door, begging to be let inside to hide under my bed.
She is not a park dog, never has been, and never will be, her time outside is limited to a short romp and finding the perfect place to relieve herself.
At night I sometimes wake to her perched over me nudging my face with hers
“Do you want to go out?” I ask sleepily and she somehow manages to do her crazy wiggle ‘yes’ dance without falling off my bed. (Something I’m sure even I can’t do)
So I let her outside, my head resting against the doorframe, waiting to let her back in after she’s finished, sometimes I head for the bathroom myself knowing that if I give her two minutes she’ll be at the door by the time I get back to the door.
It was maybe 30 seconds before my eager pup was waiting on the front porch, surprised I let her in, only to have her nearly run me over in a mad dash to kitchen, because she knows that after she goes out she gets a little treat. A little bit of cheese from my midnight snack, a little bit of ham (compliments of my dad’s lunchmeat selection) or maybe a lick of my ice cream. It took about a week of these 4am bathroom breaks for me to realize that she didn’t do anything but take a little romp right past the front walk and then double back. She was waking me up every single night of the week for her little snack but she knew she had to go outside first to get it.
So that was her little pretend, mine was that I wasn’t annoyed out of my head because it took me AN HOUR to go back to sleep while she curled up next to me, content and snoring, within 5 minutes. Finally after a week and my slow sleuthing skills, when she woke me up the next night, I let her out and she barely stepped off the front porch before she was back at the door perky and hungry, ready to trample me to get to the kitchen first so she could wait eagerly by the refrigerator.
I followed her to the kitchen then calmly went to the pantry and pulled down her box of milk bones, pulling one out and offering it to her. I’ve never felt so scorned in my entire life, first I was given a look of confusion as she didn’t even bother to sniff it, she knew what it was, what she didn’t know was why was I trying to give it to her?
She paused a second and then turned and trotted out of the kitchen.
When I got back to my room she was laying curled up by my bed, obviously sore at my turncoat ways. I shrugged and went back to bed; at 4:56, as soon as I’d really gotten back to sleep she was nudging my face.
No, she didn’t bother to step off the porch, she didn’t trample me on the way in but stopped to make sure I was following her the whole way to the kitchen, and when she got there, she sat in front of the fridge ready not to budge till she had gotten her snack. Her real snack.
I gave in. What could I do? She’s my pooch, my sneaky baby scaredycat. And after that night it became an understanding right then and there as I sat at the table at 5 am sharing my buttered toast with her. We would forget about this little incident and it wouldn’t happen again.
Now, it’s only every now and then, she wakes me up for our own little midnight snack...
More recently when my brother visits he brings someone along, His FiancĂ©, and while this is new to all of us we’re pretty okay with it. She’s nice to my pooch and in return my pooch mainly ignores her. What caught us all off guard was when my brothers’ soon to be wife announced that after the wedding they were taking my pooch to live with them.
I manage to only sit and stare at my soon to be sister-in-law, speechless.
They…were taking…My pooch.
Or they thought they were…my mouth finally found words and I as I shook my head I said them without even thinking.
“In hell bitch!”
Even with the picture of my surprised mothers gaping mouth in my mind, that’s still exactly how I feel about it.
I’d never label an animal something as degrading as “mine.” If they didn’t feel the same way about it, but Mitzi Boots is my dog, as much as I’m her girl.
Even now when my brother comes for a visit and brings his FiancĂ©, Mitzi doesn’t bother to leave my room. My soon to be sister in law looks me straight in the eye and politely inquires as to the whereabouts of my brothers’ dog.
“She doesn’t like strangers” I say truthfully with a shrug before I walk away, knowing they’ll never take her from me.
I’ll never let them…
My heart is beating normally now, it has to be close to 4 am, Mitzi is staring at me with her large brown eyes…there’s a pang in my heart at the thought of maybe losing her…if not to old age then to my brother and that witch…
But as Mitzi comes to curl up next to me, already back asleep as I reach to stoke her soft tan fur, I know two things.
Mitzi Boots is my pooch…I love her.
And two…
Damn I’m hungry for some toast.
♠ ♠ ♠
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