A drunken weekend ends well for no one…

Every so often, Hubster talks about wanting to get Lola a sibling. He has his hopes set on a French Bulldog that Lola can show the ropes to. He has this delusion that Lola will teach it to go potty outside, not chew any furniture, and only bark if someone comes to the door.

I have saved a few pictures of Lola’s most awful puppy moments to use as a reminder that the humans are the ones who suffer when the puppy is in training- I show them to Hubster when he is at his weakest. The pictures all involve puddles of Poop Soup that Lola lovingly made from her body any time she was left alone in the crate. Or left alone in the house. Or left alone in the living room for two minutes while I went to the bathroom a mere two feet away from where she was standing. Why Lola never figured out that she could walk forward to see me was beyond all my human comprehension skills. Lola had an irrational puppy fear that we would leave her and never return, rendering her incapable of maintaining even the simplest of bodily functions. This fear instantly receded when she turned 9 months old and has not reared its ugly head since.

Until this weekend.

This weekend Hubster needed no pictures to remind him of the horrors of puppyhood. Lola had to be sedated so that the vet could give her a thorough teeth cleaning. As a result of the sedation, I was warned by the vet that Lola would be drowsy and clumsy. I could handle drowsy and clumsy. What I got instead, was so much worse than that.

Lola’s butt became a weapon of mass destruction and my house was its target. Every nook, crevice, and cranny were enemies in need of rousing and Lola was ready to answer that call. As I frantically ran around trying to throw plastic on everything, Lola stumbled around like a drunken sailor on a 3 day leave – her eyes at half mast and bumping into all the furniture.

The first hit was the dog bed. Lola managed to violate that while she sat semi-upright with drool running down her chin. She stared at me, stupefied, when I lifted her limp body so Hubster could replace the biological disaster with a fresh pillow. This time, we managed to secure a plastic layer between the bed and the rug, though it mattered not since the rug had already been desecrated. As we laid her listless body back down, I realized that all those rowdy years in my early twenties were preparing me for this moment.

The laundry cycle began and the laundress was working so hard that she asked for a raise. Hubster denied my raise and made me put another load in the wash! As I tried to keep up with the influx of dog beds, pillows, blankets, and towels, I prayed for the machine to break so that I could justify throwing it all in a pile and lighting it on fire.

Hubster was valiantly attempting to hold himself together while I savagely threw poop laden cloth around. I found him in the fetal position, in his man cave, whimpering as quietly as he could.

Hubster wasn’t getting away from the horror show that easily!

Bathing a drunken Lola was not something previously on my bucket list, but I tell you this, add that to your bucket list! It doesn’t have to be a drunken Lola, any drunken animal should suffice – though I recommend it weigh less than you do. Elephants would be a larger challenge than most people could handle.

As I was desperately lathering up Lola, who had violated her own person while she slept blissfully, I realized that Lola no longer recognized me as the Mommybeast. I had somehow morphed into her captor and I was intent on abusing her person. And in true “hold my beer” fashion, Lola commenced to escaping her prison.  

Wild thrashing of the canine body ensued because the water was in fact acid, and I was using it to burn Lola’s skin from her bones. For some reason Lola was shrieking “brindle skin coat” at me while she snapped her teeth together. I hazard a guess that I was Cruella de Vil trying to make a coat out of Bulldog? Lola kept trying to run away but her inebriated attempts were hampered by the slick ceramic tub she was standing in. I was feeling smugly victorious… then the shampoo was opened. This was no ordinary shampoo according to drunk Lola. This shampoo was a blinding agent that I was using in order to force Lola to submit to my rule. Lola’s only goal was to make sure all shampoo ended up on the tub floor. This was achieved through the Blind the Human tactic which involved vigorous shaking of the furry body and sneezing into the human’s eyes.

By the end of the bath, Lola’s ass end had become a hindrance and she attempted to flee her ceramic prison using just the front half of her body. Have you every wanted to know what a zombie cut in half acts like? Bathe a drunken animal.

The day’s end brought no relief, just a numbness deep within our bones, and a dawning realization that we had another day of this behavior before it would hopefully end. Some individuals, namely Lola (though a little bit Hubster also), were filing appeals for the Hague to convene war crime trials.

No one in this house will ever ask for another puppy.

Lola is doing fabulously today, though we had another poop incident in our dog bed while napping. I’m pretending Lola is still recovering because her seeking retribution would be more than my fragile psyche could handle after this weekend’s literal shit show. I’m also feel guilty about Lola’s missing toys. Turns out, Lola has a hell of a bite. She has multiple chips in her back teeth and a tremendous amount of enamel that is missing. Lola has now been reduced to two toys in her bin, and she’s no longer allowed to have anything that isn’t rubber or fleece. The look of betrayal as she hunts for her missing toys is intense and I’m a bit in fear for my life when I close my eyes.

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