Peterbilt Turns 5.
I can’t believe Peterbilt has been destroying our lives for 5 years now. Man, time flies. It just seems like yesterday and Hubs and I had hopes and dreams of building a life together without destruction: Buying shoes and having them still exist years (or days) later, using savings towards home improvements instead of vet bills, expecting sass talk only to come once we had children, enjoying our pristine hardwood floors……ah so young. So naïve.
So we took our shoe-eating, knee-busting, sass-mouthing, pee pants bulldog Peterbilt on his ritual birthday trip to the buffet. Not as in Old Country. Noooo. No right-minded health inspector would ever allow a creature so foul to pass through restaurant doors. This is the dog buffet, or in other words, Chuck n’ Don’s Pet Food Outlet. For those of you that may be unfamiliar, it’s a franchised pet food store that leaves open buckets of treats and chews on the floor. Enough temptation to make even the most disciplined dog make his owner look like a total asshole. Peterbilt is no exception, but one woman that works there owns an Oldy and she feigns joy pretty well when we walk in.
We prepared to load Peterbilt in the car, him leaping and dancing around the car like it’s some rusted, worn down, fucking maypole, while I laid a towel on the backseat for him. Peter and I piled in and waited for Hubs. All the while, Peterbilt vocally expressed his frustration at my husband’s pokiness. He would have climbed into the seat and laid on the horn if I’d let him. “Let’s go!!!” he growled. “I need to get out of his hellhole for a spell!”
Peter loves a good car ride for reasons most dogs usually don’t care about: people watching. While most dogs love the window down and the wind in their face, Peterbilt pulls his head back inside in disgust after we reach a speed over 20 miles an hour.
Peter, and Mack too, love to gaze out the window and wonder at buildings and trees, gawk at joggers with their dogs and watch the other cars and the people inside. This is probably due to the frequency at which people try to waive and talk to our dogs while were driving, which is very often. I watched a lady almost rear end the car in front of her while trying to strain to tell me that she liked my dog once. “He’s yours!”, I usually shout back at the strangers, which elicits a smile on their part but a dead-serious expression on mine. And they always drive away……
We arrived at the pet food store and Peter just couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. We walked inside and Peter took a sharp 90 degree left to the cage with a black cat inside, waiting for adoption. Peterbilt’s lack of experience with cats was apparent when he pressed his big, black wet nose up against the bars of the cage, undoubtedly giving the cat several short sprays of snot and wet whatnot.
The cat arched his back, hissed and swatted at Peter, which sent him running in the opposite direction. This was of great amusement for everyone in the store, including us. Peter peered out from behind my husband’s legs.
The rest of the time there was spent trying to physically restrain Peterbilt from eating $50 worth of dog biscuits.
It took both of us when he reached into the $25 antler bucket. “Whoa Nelly! We said you could have anything you wanted but what we really meant was anything you wanted under $20.”
I found a 24” long beef hide stick for $3.99 which seemed much more reasonable. Peter also got to peruse the clearance dog toy section and picked out a squeak toy. After I got tired of picking up every box of dog treats that Peter’s giant head knocked over, we decided to check out.
Check out is calamity all it’s own. Years of experience at the check out line have taught Peterbilt it’s OK to jump up on the counter because he’ll get a treat.
If he’s feeling really rambunctious, he’ll even sneak behind the check out counter and rummage through the bags and packing tape in hopes to find the mother lode of treats. This is the point where you can tell what the cashier is really made of. Dog lovers will laugh and give him treats. True Dog Lovers will lead him out from behind the desk and once outside, make him sit for his treat. People posing as dog lovers express annoyance and shoot you a glare. This time, a very wise and patient gentleman made a game to get him off of the counter and tossed Peterbilt small treats, Peterbilt catching them mid air. Peterbilt was instantly in love and we were instantly grateful for this man’s cleverness.
We waved our good-byes. Peterbilt took another brief, cautious look at the black cat again and skittered out the door. Foreseeing a disaster on the drive home, I packed the new toys and treats in the truck. I’d rather put up with 10 minutes of bulldog pouting than 30 seconds of him gulping all of his treats down as fast as he can, throwing them back up in the car (hence the towel. Not our first rodeo) and re-eating the treats.
I’m happy to report that we managed to wear this bulldog out for the day, which is as much of a present to us as it is to him. A good dog is a tired dog. Happy Birthday, Peterbilt! Only 5 more to go! (I keed, I keed)