writing doodle - as yet untitled - dog park dad

Keeping Victoria, Ruth, Amy, and Ginger straight was a challenge, manageable, but a challenge.  The players have been known to change, but pattern will always be the same: blond, brunette, redhead, and some kind of streaky thing, lather, rinse and repeat.  Ok, so sometimes I'm not so great at names.  Probably this is why they all get some kind of a diminutive when we are together; anyone can be sweetie or honeybunch.  I have a friend, who shall remain nameless, but his mother calls him Gus, who only dated women named Linda; didn't matter what they looked like as long as their name was Linda.  He never wanted to call out the wrong name either in passion or in anger. His collection of Lindas past was a motley crew at best. How his current wife's name turned out to be Pam is beyond my understanding.

When the smallish bundle of fur moved in with me, I had no idea Red didn't share.  She was more possessive than Victoria, Ruth, Amy, and Ginger combined.  When they all had PMS, there was no chocolate, and not enough sugar in the house.

I had heard that an alpha bitch could be territorial.  For some reason, I thought it had to do with her puppies, toys, and, possibly, her food dish.

In this case, not only was I wrong, but it had been spectacular.  She could have given my second wife lessons in h ow to be suspicious.  Whenever I went somewhere with new or different smells, I was sniffed slowly and methodically from stem to stern.  Perfume rated extra time playing before bed. Different soap or shampoo and she wouldn't look me in the eye.

When Tammy, or was it Amy, came over to watch a movie, Red, who had never so much as been on the sofa before, at least to my knowledge, sat between us and wouldn't be moved.  We moved to the floor to let the dog have the sofa, she joined us for a few minutes.  When I turned off the additional lights in the house, the dog was gone, presumably to her kennel.

Red found the pharmacy bag, opened the box of condoms, and chewed on the packaging destroying most of them.

The one night I stayed over with Veronica, or was it Victoria, I came home to massive destruction.  New blankets, new sheets, and new underwear all required before the weekend was over.


Manny encouraged me to go to the dog park. Said it was a panacea and that all would be forgiven.  He has a thing for forgiveness and confession.  Me?  I'm claustrophobic and have no intention of hanging around a broom closet telling a man anything important.  A broom closet with a cutie with cleavage, that's a horse of a different color.

The dog park isn't the worst place I've ever been.  A lion's share of the people walk around talking into their cell phones ignoring their dogs.  It is the six and seven year olds who engage with everyone's dogs.  Red apparently likes kids and likes other dogs; female dog owners are not on her list of people to meet.

After about a month, I know a herd of dogs that Red approves of, the owners only by sight and not by name.  No one knows me either.  I'm just Red's dad.

I miss my sex life.

writing doodle - as yet untitled - misc spot

"There's only room for one bitch in my bed." I cringed as I said the words.  But I meant them.  Despite the fact that Audrey was fun to go to a game with or fun to play games with, she was flighty, ditzy, and didn't listen.  Ever.  I tried for two weeks to gently break to her that our non-exclusive relationship was not only going to remain that way, but that we were no longer even close enough to be non-exclusive. Considering I only knew her for three weeks, this disentanglement was excessively long, even for me.  "And you're not the bitch I want in my bed."

"What's she got that I haven't got?" Audrey asked.  "Gabe, I'm waiting."

She pouted, stomped her feet, and her boobs jiggled.  Usually the jiggle could turn the tide in her direction, but I was going to remain firm.  Not that she couldn't get me firm, but well, you know what I mean.  Resolute.  That's it.  I was going to remain resolute.  Both me and my Johnson.  Not a problem.  If only she'd worn a bra when she was stamping her feet, it would have been easier to remain firm.  I mean resolute. Decided.  Determined.

"I can't afford the upkeep," I said.  Going into the non-relationship, non-commitment, I knew that much of Audrey had been enhanced, I just had no idea quite the degree until she asked me to kick in.  She said it was for my enjoyment and since I benefited, I should participate in the overall cost.  Fifty bucks wouldn't have bothered me; the cost of a decent meal and a couple of beers.  No big deal.  When the tally came to six hundred fifty dollars, my mouth went dry, my wallet snapped shut, and my penis shrank.  Three sizes.  Then she said it didn't include clothing, special lingerie, or toys, I about flipped.  Sure Toys for Tots at Christmas, no problem.  But why the hell does she need an Xbox anyway?

I am not now, nor have I ever been a tightwad when it comes to important things.  I helped my sister pay for daycare when she had to change jobs and took a paycut.  I bought my former mother-in-law tires for mother's day because "XXX look up the Michelin ad for this space" ... For Christmas I co-sponsored my nephew's Little League team.

"I can afford her upkeep."  No fancy gym membership.  No wardrobe to replace each season.  No hairdresser to send to Europe by my tips alone.  No fashion trends to watch or be quizzed on later.  Simple.  Easy.  Frugal.

"Right.  That's what they all say. What about?"

I needed to get a better line. Something more effective than ignoring her phone calls, selling my car, changing jobs, or moving.  I considered writing her a check to cover this month's beauty routine, but if I paid and didn't receive the benefits, why would I pay and not receive the benefits? Peace of mind.

"No.  It's been lovely.  But our time is over." I placed my hand on her head and forced it out of my car window.  "You know better than to violate the restraining order."

Red let her presence be known at that moment by placing her head on my shoulder and her paw in the middle of the steering wheel.

Could I do better than my Irish rose?  Probably, but the loyalty of my Irish setter was at that time priceless.

writing doodle - unrelated location - as yet untitled

ok - incredibly messy - but working on getting words out ... a blank page can't be edited or corrected ... sad but true.

~~~

attempting to put my nose back to the grindstone

There was no comfortable position except standing or sitting, all I could do was pray my back wouldn't get tired.  Problem was, my feet hurt after being on them for close to eight hours and unless I was in a brace of some kind, my posture was going to fail in the chair and I was going to slump and touch something.

If that happened, I'd no longer be tired, just cranky and in a lot of pain.

Never again.

Never again will I refuse pain medication when it is readily and freely offered by the emergency room physician.

Sure, my shoulder has been dislocated before.  I was younger then and I had a woman/girlfriend who would take care of me when I got home.  At least that had been the plan. Turned out the last time, she was taking care of someone else and in the biblical sense, so I was on my own then and pretty much now.  

Red broke through the screendoor and escaped at the same time the plumber showed up to fix the slow drain in the bathroom.  Turned out that Strange and Sons Plumbing was related to Strange and Sons Rentals, my landlords, only everyone I've met so far named Strange is a woman.  And the one I have run into, today, literally, seems a little too familiar. 

If there is a god, she isn't the woman who had a thing for electrical tape, bungy cords, and whipped cream.  It took nine months for the hair to grow back and my memory is still sketchy.

Then again, there probably is no god because she is the one who took me to the ER, sat with me until Manny could pick me up.  Seems that there is a policy about adult supervision after some procedures are done, for now Red is still growing and won't count as an adult for quite some time.

I had hooked my fingers in Red's collar and was walking her back to the house when she saw a pigeon and took off after it.  I felt like something out of a slapstick comedy, but it didn't feel funny.  She dragged me about five feet, broke the collar, and then walked back to the house leaving me bruised and bloody on the sidewalk.  I admired the leaves on the tree above me, tried to get my breath back, and definitely recognized the pain in my shoulder and back.  My shoulder had only just healed a month before Red adopted me and the doctor didn't want to go through this again.

Neither did I.

He used horrible, terrible, and terrifying words:  consent forms, needles, surgery.

I gladly give consent to any number of things. Fun things.  Happy things.  Once in a while necessary things.  Not life changing things, not unless it is life threatening.

Needles.  Never do I volunteer for needles, my most recent tattoo is an exception.  A portrait of Red on my forearm.  Once I put the name of the woman I thought was the one over my heart, I got the ring back within a week.  I figure Red is stuck with me for the duration.  Besides, she can keep a secret even if she can't keep to her own side of the bed.

Surgery? Not unless someone is dying or there is absolutely no other alternative.  With a little PT, I could avoid surgery.  Again.

writing doodle - as yet untitled - follows the last

Red and I fell into a pattern, she called the shots and I obeyed.  Who am I to argue with an alpha bitch? Besides, it wasn't like she was all that demanding and I could always overpower her if necessary.  The mornings consisted of breakfast, a walk, a short game of tug, and I went to work.  The pattern repeated after I came home from work, except in the reverse order. Damn good thing she couldn't talk or I'd have to learn to do something more challenging than make scrambled eggs and tuna salad sandwiches for two.

Things were fine until my first date since Red and I moved in together.

She wasn't amused, actually neither she was amused.  Red was used to my undivideds all night, unlimited playing, belly rubs, and a very specific bedtime.  Francine and I hooked up at the sports bar (XXX) and she allowed me to console her after her team lost.  Hell, I would have felt honor bound to console her no matter whose team lost; it'd been weeks since I'd had long legs wrapped around my waist and I had a woman writhing and screaming beneath me.

Turned out I haven't missed it all that much.

Red was creative when she was bored or ignored.  Who knew that a teenie, tiny pair of lacy undies could be devoured in under three seconds? The bra didn't take that much longer to completely destroy.  It wasn't like she needed them, I mean silicone doesn't sag or sway too much and her nipples weren't responsive anyway, so there wasn't much loss.  (fix this part later) Sure, I've played around and cut off a couple of pairs in my time.  Who hasn't?  My efforts were usually well rewarded.  Red's efforts?  Not greeted with enthusiasm.  Greeted instead with the promise of a bill from a place called Agent Provacatour.  (sp - look it up later) ... almost anything else would have been cheaper.  I'm lucky I lived when I offered to pay for her next Brazilian.  What?  Things seemed to be growing back in and that shit's expensive to take care of.  At least I don't bruise too easily.

(need to work in the contents of the purse the dog destroyed and the cries of outrage when the dog eats: lipstick, cellphone, cellphone case, diaphragm case, package of cigarettes, birth control pill package, wallet???)

There was a minor problem when I took Francine back to her car.  Red likes the view from the front seat; if I still owned a truck with a split bench instead of bucket seats, there wouldn't have been much of a problem.  Red started in the back and crawled into Francine's lap three times on a five mile drive.

"I guess she's not the one for us," I said as I ruffled Red's head.  Not that I was looking for the one now or ever.  "Want to get a burger?"

writing doodle - as yet untitled - no idea where it fits

Three days, fifteen condos, apartments, guesthouses, trailers, and shanties, and finally XXX found the only place Big Red and I could possibly call home.

The two bedroom bungalow had a small yard in back and white picket fence in front.  There were a couple of mature trees, some rosebushes that had seen better days, and enough room to rough house in the backyard.  If it had been two stories, it would have been the Mayberry ideal, but one floor I could definitely work with.  There was still an old rotary dial phone with the longest cord I'd ever seen sitting on the kitchen counter.  I picked it up, no dial tone.  Heavy enough to use as a weapon, it would be well worth keeping and no one would assume anything.

The house came with the barest of basics.  The refrigerator was just this side of a college beer cooler.  The stove had two burners that worked and two that took up space.  The oven had a series of cast iron skillets in it, no telling if it worked or not.  The showerhead was handheld, if I didn't like it, I could always submerge myself in the minuscule 1950s tub.  The whole place had linoleum  not the vinyl stuff from the 60s and 70s, but from the 30s or 40s complete with what looked like divets from a woman's high heeled shoe.  

Sure it was ugly, the floors all looked like they belonged in a service station, but they would be low maintenance and until we got all the way through the puppies, low maintenance was good.

The landlord didn't care about the dog's size or breed.  Apparently didn't care whether or not I painted, but wanted approval on wallpaper.  No loud parties, hey if a party of two gets too loud and the cops are called, I would be proud and she should at least be smiling, not a problem.  All utilities were on me, as I expected.  And the landlord could enter if I either granted permission or gave 24 hours notice.  Typical.