People Doggy Post
Meet Dingo and Chavo.
How did I meet them, you ask? Well, through a really great friend in Berkeley. She asked if I wanted to house sit for her, and I said yes.
I’ll be honest, the news earlier this week had me a bit down. But on Thursday when my friend picked me up from my apartment and took me out, I started to feel like myself again. Today, after spending two nights with these little guys, I am feeling a whole lot better. Lighter. Floatier. Creepier…again. Thank goodness! Anyways, enough of that stuff. The point is, thanks to my Berkeley surfer chola friend, and her doggies I’m feeling much better.
She lives in a nice little cottage–up in the Berkeley hills. I swear, if this were in a Disney movie it would be where the 7 dwarfs live. Such a cute place, and she’s such a great host. I drove her to the airport and I saw her go. She left. She left, and there I was alone with two dogs. Alone. Alone with two dogs in a cottage that by day looks like a farytale get away, but by night…it becomes a lair of darkness with curtainless windows where black stares back into your reflection as you wash dishes—-and you want to look away, but you can’t—-and everytime you see your reflection in the sink, the mirrors, glass windows you look nervously to the side hoping that there is no one standing behind you (a second face) staring you back in the eyes.
Haha, I creep myself out. But seriously the house is freaking noisy at night. It’s the bay, man, weather changes frequently, so the wooden floors, old fixtures and plumbing make these crazy crazy sounds when the sun goes down. I scared myself the entire night. If that wasn’t bad already, let’s add dog sounds into the mix to make it sound like there’s a freaking demon in the house. Seriously, it was as if the dogs knew I was scared and they decided to egg each other on. They kept grumbling and barking at my side. Little devils!
I tried to focus on reading by the desk, but there was a continuous sound coming from the kitchen—the laundry room—the window—the chimney—the floors—footsteps in the attic? Am I alone? Oh God, oh God….Woof! They were mocking me! The little dudes, jumping around and playing with each other out of the blue. I jumped out of my skin quite a few times that night.
Music, I thought, music will make everything better.
French music plays on Pandora and the dogs groan in the living room. I didn’t even know dogs could groan! It was so funny. One of them goes to the door and lays down apathetically. The other teases me from the couch, where he is not supposed to be sitting. I know they were thinking the same thing…
You’re not my mommy.
Earlier that day, I started a small battle with Dingo. Dingo get off the couch. He yawns. Dingo down–Down Dingo! He stares at me blankly. My surfer chola friend had vaccuumed the cushions, so I could sleep there that night. Dingo, your mom doesn’t want you on the couch. Down Dingo! I say in my semi-aggressive voice, and then he proceeds to answer me with his semi-agressive growl. I step back.
How dare you, you cheeky dog! is all I can say. I am, after all, the new comer to their home—I really have no say, not according to Dingo anyways. I’m just someone who is stepping in for the night. I thought Chavo was going to give me trouble, he’s a little rascal, but in the end it was Dingo who stood his ground. You’re lucky your mom’s not here! I said and returned to my reading at the desk.
Then the fridge did this weird burp, and I jumped off the chair. If dogs could chuckle, I swear that both Dingo and Chavo were secretly chuckling away last night. I look over to see them staring at each other panting. Of course we made up by the end, and I slept on the couch next to the cheekiest of dogs, Mr. Dingo _____.