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Sunday, February 12, 2012

Dimples the rescue dog.

     I’ve lived with my cousin Henry since my life burnt up in my apartment.  Henry is half Italian and half Puerto Rican. Both blood lines lean towards the dramatic, which makes him doubly dramatic. So when I approached him to take in Dimples, (at first it was until we found him a home) he waved his arms, screeched out how he never got on with dogs. Recounting the story of how Mary Margaret Filingero’s dog, from down the street in Jersey, chased him a mile trying to chew his ass off when he was seven. The whole incident scarred him emotionally for life. He left out the part where he teased the dog with a stick, but that was beside the point. I convinced him that Dimples would only be temporary, and I’d keep him out of trouble. With hands on swinging hips, he marched into his kitchen, yelling out, “Alright, but he’s your responsibility.” Turning he waved a hand at me, “I don’t walk, and scoop poop.”
     Henry’s new boyfriend, Kevin, loved Dimples, but wouldn’t take him because he claimed he was too busy for the little guy, but he loved visiting him. So Henry, now in love with Kevin, or thinks might be, started to pet Dimples. Next thing you know, Dimples is a high class groomer with some of the riches dogs in Manhattan, going through a beautification program. I agreed to it, with the promise that there would be no bows or painted toenails.  Kevin was the one who bought the first outfit. Henry didn’t miss an opportunity to see that the dog had no fashion sense, and soon little outfits were appearing on Dimples body, personally designed for him by Henry, who was starting his own doggy fashion line.
     Dimples has a coat for every occasion, with boots to match. His wardrobe is better than mine, especially when his glammed out in his doggy snow coat, boots, and goggles to go to the park. Yes, goggles. They usually match Henry’s attire as they prance down the street like two little ballerinas. Henry does do the poop scooping. He hates it, as he bends over, trying to clean up the little logs with a flare of dignity. Not much dignity in cleaning up dog shit, but Henry does try to put flare into everything. So a squeal, he manages to get the logs in a bag, as he dances to nearest garbage and dumps it with a huff. He eventually bought a pooper scooper, to alleviate the bending over and touching shit through a bag.
     Dimples, even sometimes goes to work with Henry. So for a guy who wasn’t much of a dog person, he certainly is now. In Henry’s office he has a special bed and bowls for Dimples. His secretary, Mean Park, (that is her name) gets to take Dimples out for doggy duty time, and hates it. She went on a rant the last time I called the office, about it. Half of the complaint was in Korean, regardless of the language, I got the whole jest of it. But she’s got a great job, one that is hard to come by so she does her poop scoop time, and complains to me.  
     I do my share of Dimples duty, since I brought him home. But it’s been easier than I thought when Henry fell in love with the little guy. The two have become two peas in a pod. Dimples even tried to hump the neighbor’s male golden retriever. Henry proclaimed Dimples gay, and we’re all happy as pigs in shit.
     Dimples has settled into our lives nicely. He’s even a little rescue dog in the sense he rescued me from hanging upside down for hours where my head would have exploded. Henry has one those back things that stretches the back by flipping back and hanging upside down. I went to the gym, and couldn’t get into the ab workout area, because every mom in NYC was trying to get back in shape after the holidays. So I come home, and think I’m going to do an ab workout on that stupid back thing. Henry does it all the time, and has a six pack. So I climb on, strap my feet in tightly, hang upside down, and do my sit-ups. I try to flip it back up, and no go. The damn thing won’t move. I try everything, bending my legs, try to slide up, you name it. I’m hanging upside down. Dimples is sitting there looking at me cocking his little head, with grin that said, “Hey sister, you’re hanging upside down! What an idiot.”  
     I call out Henry’s name. He’s door is closed, it’s early, and Henry doesn’t do mornings. When he has too, he doesn’t do them well.
     Okay, panic is setting in. I’m screaming for Henry, as I try to flip the thing up. I get one leg loose from where they are securely strapped, and now I’m hanging by one leg, screaming for help, afraid to break the other leg loose, to fall on my head and break my neck. So now I’m worried my head will explode causing me to fall to the floor, to finish me off with a broken neck. Not a very pretty scenario.
     Dimples is still looking at me. He finally decides that maybe, I’ll make a mess, after all he is gay, or so he’s been christened. He takes off. Soon I hear him barking. Then Henry comes downstairs to find me hanging upside down. I’m looking up at him from my vantage point, to a man, with skinny legs, in a leopard print g-string, a t-shirt with Daisy Duck looking like hell, that says, “I hate mornings”, a pink silk robe, black eye covers, with purple lace trim, and ear plugs. Oh, and his dark curly hair was stuck up all over his head. Henry much to his disgust has a thick Hispanic beard that was grown out beyond the five o’clock shadow to midnight.
     He flipped me back up, before my head exploded or I broke something trying to break free, and had a few not so kind words to say to me. I was left with the sound of his feet padding across the hardwood floors. He scooped up Dimples, giving him you’re a good boy love, and went back to his room slamming the door. I didn’t see him for a while, when he reappeared, dressed to kill, not me, but for work with Dimples ready for his daily poop, it was like nothing happened.
     He did ask me, since he saved my life, if I could take Dimples to work with me, but on my way home, I’d have to drop him at the groomers, because he didn’t want ‘his dog’ smelling like shrimp chow mien.
     Since now I owe Henry my life, besides some rent, I take Dimples to work with me. It’s not like our office is that busy. Okay, it’s not busy at all. But on the day I have Dimples, in his little bed behind my desk a very fashionable woman walks in, reminding me of Anna Wintour, of Vogue. She had the bob and everything going on. I wondered what someone wearing her price tags were doing coming into our little crowded office, that smelled like the Chinese special of day, with a little dog behind me, who was growling. Dimples never growls but he did for a second or two at this very high class, probably a Daughter of the Mayflower woman. She wore black. Black hat, over coat, and whatever was under it, was black with black stockings and  boots.
     What did she want? To hire our ‘firm’ as she called it to find an old boyfriend, who she wanted to get in touch with. Sean was so excited to get a paying customer, he took the job. She said she’d pay all our expenses. I was wondering why she just didn’t try Facebook, but hey whose going to complain if she’s paying us or paying Sean who pays me, or is supposed too.

To be continued next week...

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