ADVENTURES OF MIKE AND MATTIE

I was checking out some old computer files of mine and ran across this lengthy story I wrote around nine years ago while I was unemployed. Read on if you dare (or if you're bored).

THE ADVENTURES OF MIKE AND MATTIE

I am now adding Veterinarian and Master Psychologist to my list of "Jack of All Trades, Master of None" Titles. After a week of coaxing, cussing, praying, etc., that Mattie (our year old poodle-mix puppy), would get over her bout with constipation, I have discovered her problem - she's a teenager. A little background first...

Approximately two weeks ago, I noticed our little "girl" was going through some physiological changes. More specifically, it wasn't an open wound I discovered on my arm as I put Mattie down after taking her out to her favorite spot on the front lawn. (This from a man who wouldn't even consider having an inside dog four years ago. Now I'm carrying the stupid mutt to her favorite spot to do her business because I don't want her paws to get wet and track on my newly vacuumed carpet.)

Much to my heterosexual male dismay, Baby Mattie had now become "Miss Mattie" (on my arm, no less.) Miss Mattie was now a full-fledged young lady...a doggie teenager to be exact. Of course I immediately called Melissa at work, much like a parent who had witnessed their child's first foot steps.

"Are you sure that's what it was?" asked my disbelieving wife.

"Well I wasn't making tomato soup for lunch," I replied sarcastically. (In the year since my "down-sizing", I've become a pretty good cook. So add that to my list of titles too.)

Upon hanging up with Melissa, I decided to go online to become more educated on Mattie's situation. Needless to say, you get some pretty off the wall websites when you type "bitches in heat" in your Internet browser.

After perusing numerous bonafide veterinary websites, I determined there wasn't much we could do for Mattie except not answer the front door if we heard loud barking. (Neighborhood dogs are very creative when it comes to gaining access to aforementioned "bitches in heat". One Internet message board verified that 12 foot fences are useless in keeping male dogs at bay.)

As usual, my wife decided to take the more practical but boring approach - she called our vet. (Heck, anybody can do that...try surfing through 20 websites entitled "Bitches in Heat" in less than an afternoon; that's what I'm talking about!)

The vet said we could buy a doggie pamper and put a feminine pad in it to keep her from...well, you get the picture. She also said it would last approximately 2 to3 weeks and this would only happen a couple of times a year. (Thank God it's not every month.)

Although neither the vet nor the Internet indicated we should expect side effects, they were pretty much standard: loss of appetite (although she gave M&M commercials her undivided attention), listlessness, and she didn't want me to touch her (wait a minute, that wasn't Mattie).

After a week of this, we discovered a new problem, Mattie was having problems focusing when she needed to "do the doo", so to speak. She would circle and circle and circle like crazy, then just when you thought she would complete the transaction, she would squat and SPRITZ. Talk about anti-climactic!

I would stand next to her giving encouragement, my breath shallow with anticipation, "Come on Mattie, be a GOOD girl! Oh, oh, oh, oh.....uuuggghhh!" (It's like when your toddler decides to begin feeding himself, steadily guiding the food to his mouth, and then spooning the food into his eye at the last minute...sheer disappointment.)

I can deal with this frustration during the day (thank God for videotape so I don't miss Oprah), but at 4 AM in the morning, it gets a little old. If your neighbors happen to be up at 4 in the morning and look out the window at you trying to coax your dog into taking a healthy crap, they will probably start avoiding your house at Halloween. (Wait, that could be a GOOD thing.)

After spiking her food with mineral oil and considering a full lube job (for the dog, not me), I was at my wit's end. The mineral oil did succeed in her little tummy percolating, but she was still doing her circle, circle,circle, spritz, dance. Then finally it happened!

After a full morning of Mattie playing "Oh Danny Boy" on her internal bagpipes, she came to me and scratched my arm frantically. I figured either she was really ready to "go", or she accidentally stepped on the remote control and changed the TV to some doggie operation on Animal Planet.

Looking deep into her eyes, I recognized the look! It was the same look I saw in the mirror after drinking a gallon of Go-Litely the day before my colonoscopy. Sheer terror! (Terror, when you realized the bathroom was 25 feet away instead of the standard 4 feet recommended on the label.)

I gushed words of encouragement as I attached her leash, "I have faith in you Mattie. I know you can do it!"

"Remember, you'll get a treat if you dump!" (Who's idea was it to give a dog a treat if they crap on your front lawn? No one ever gives me treats; although everyone does light matches as if they were at a concert wanting an encore.)

Sure enough, the dance began. Circle, circle,circle...HOUSTON, THE EAGLE HAS LANDED! Sheer joy entered my soul as I watched her grimace, and then prance off after a job well done. I stared in utter amazement at the future fertilizer lying on my front lawn. I could have sworn it glistened in the sunlight,but it was actually the tears of joy and sheer exhaustion that gave the starlight effect.

"GOOD GIRL!", I exclaimed as I picked her up. The grass wasn't even wet. SHE EARNED this piggyback ride! I was overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment as she munched on her doggie treat. We overcame this temporary setback together...as a team!

The elation was short lived, however. This morning we stepped onto the grass, a dog and her coach, heads held high, proudly showing the neighborhood that we weren't weirdos after all. We reached the spot, equal distance between the Red Oak and the Live Oak, 3.5 feet from the sidewalk...OUR SPOT.

The music played, the dance began. Circle, circle,circle, spritz...SPRITZ? What happened to circle,circle, circle, THUD? We stumbled through our intimate Tango of joy was as if we both had two left feet (in her case it would be four left feet, if you're counting).

"MATTIE! GO POTTIE!" I exclaimed. She looked at me with her big brown eyes that seemed to say, "What do you think I just did? You moron!"

I shuffled into the house, much like Ozzy does on the Osbournes, mumbling expletives under my breath (although with a Texas accent, not English). After my prayer and meditation time, I decided to let Mattie romp around in the back yard. We both could use the fresh air.

I scanned the back yard for Mattie, who was conspicuously quiet. In a secluded spot of the yard, unannounced and flying solo was my little "girl", "dancing" alone! Then it dawned on me. She wasn't hurting. There was nothing physiologically wrong with her body. It's psychological...she's too VAIN to poop in front of her "papa"!

Why? BECAUSE SHE'S A TEENAGER! A sense of ultimate satisfaction envelops me as I prepare to add VETERINARIAN and PSYCHOLOGIST to the plaques on my office wall. I'm too smart for my own good!