“The Artist Formerly Known As Zsa-Zsa.”
This story ends like all great stories, with a grown man on his knees in a fetal position, laughing/weeping on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I normally don’t identify the people in my stories, however, I will make an exception this time. The man was me. “But Jason, you’re the mountains that define the river, the anchor that secures our ships in turbulent tides, the tether that keeps us from spinning into chaos”…said no one, ever! But how I came to this certainly warrants an explanation if not for educational purposes then surely for entertainment purposes.
It all started when one of our two Great Danes passed away leaving a hole in my wife’s heart that just couldn’t be filled by the remaining Dane, the cat, the free-range rabbit named Bob, our two children or me. So she set out in search to rescue another Dane. She found one in Los Angeles, a female fawn named…Zsa-Zsa. My wife, Cindy, showed me her picture and I immediately fell in love and blurted out, ‘We need to adopt her! If for no other reason than to legally change her name from Zsa-Zsa to anything but Zsa-Zsa.’ Cindy agreed we should adopt her but likely for different, and I’ll admit, more mature reasons.
Cindy left for L. A. two days later. I began to worry we may have been too impulsive. We were both working more than full time jobs with an infant and a near toddler. This may not be the right time to introduce a new dog into the family, (and, more importantly, would she even get along with Bob?). When Cindy confirmed the adoption, I suggested we change her name to Star, the dog’s that is, not my wife’s. Cindy happily agreed, but then again she was able to fill that empty space in her heart so she probably would have agreed to anything;, a window of opportunity I failed to exploit, (goodbye home theater with surround sound system.)
My fears were allayed when Star arrived at our home. She was regal and elegant. She immediately took to the children, ignored the cat, couldn’t care less for Bob and made a great match for the remaining Dane. As the new-kid, we took her everywhere to socialize her. We took her to the park frequently and it was there that we quickly noticed Star’s little hang-up, she wouldn’t play.
Maybe she just didn’t know how. Maybe she just had no creativity. We attempted such games as ‘catch’, ‘tug-of-war’, ‘fetch’, ‘chase-the-people’, ‘chase anything for “F” sake!’ NOPE! She just sat by us, head up, ears up as regal and elegant as ever. It caused us a bit of sadness that such a beautiful girl may have been treated so poorly in her last home that she just had no will to enjoy the simplicity of life. No matter how hard we tried, she just wouldn’t play, so we stopped trying.
Flash-forward several weeks. Cindy and I were working opposite shifts so one of us would be home at all times with the children. We would trade off household chores and errands as time permitted. I was working the 7:00 P.M. to 3:30 A.M. shift and Cindy was working the 6:00 A.M. to 2:30 P.M. shift. This particular week was challenging for me due to overtime and court appearances, (part of the job, not poor life choices), so I didn’t get much sleep my last three days of work. But, at last, this was my Friday! Looking forward to finally getting some well needed sleep, well, as much as I could with the children.
As my luck would have it, I got stuck on over-time…again, (Okay, maybe it was poor life choices), and got off work just in time to get home, high-five Cindy in the hallway, (no euphemism intended), before she left for work. I gave her the quick rundown of what was happening at work and she gave me a blow-by-blow, (again, no euphemism intended), of what was happening at home – both kids with clean diapers, currently both are sleeping. Then, just before Cindy walked out the door she said the sweetest, most amazing thing to me: “Oh, and I cleaned the whole house last night so you don’t have to today. You’ve been working so hard this week, I want you to get as much sleep as you possibly can.” My heart melted.
I was so tired, my eyelids were at half-mast, my nerves were tingling and I felt a bit buzzed teetering like a drunken sailor as I made my way to the bedroom. I didn’t even get out of my clothes, white T-shirt and blue jeans make great pajamas. I just face-planted on the bed and slowly began to drift off into…..
“Whaa?, Huh?, What the, what’s going on? Where am I?” I came to in a stupor not even sure where I was or what was going on. I looked at the clock; six minutes?! My eyes were closed for only six minutes?! My daughter, the infant, was cooing and whining. ‘Oh, what hell is this?’ I thought. I clumsily made my way across the hall to the children’s room where I’m greeted by my daughter, now smiling the, “I’ve-pooped-myself” smile.
Well, this should be easily remedied but, in my current gauche state, I’m not certain it will be that easy. I retrieved my daughter from her crib and having the sense to not trust my reflexes enough to put her on the elevated changing table, I laid a towel on the floor and rested her on it. Surely the towel would catch any poo that might escape and if she rolls off the towel her drop to the floor will be negligible. I’m such a responsible Dad! What could possibly go wrong? Literally nothing, I’ll be in bed in no time at all.
I undo my daughter’s diaper and I’m immediately presented with…I’m not sure what, but it begs the question, “What did my wife feed these children last night?” There is a mass of brown and greenish-brown and colors that have no names, (I know because I checked the Crayola Crayon box of 360 colors and these colors weren’t represented, they don’t exist!). This is going to take an entire pack of baby-wipes just to…”One!! One baby wipe!” My wife had left just a single baby wipe in the wipe container. I used it to wipe my daughter as best I could and lay her on the towel off to the side of the atomic poo-pile. I left the room and the bedroom door automatically swung partially closed, (a problem with its hinges I would fix… probably never), and went to the hall closet to retrieve two packs of baby wipes.
While standing at the hall closet, I heard a definite but light <Thump …Thump… Thump…creeaak….creeaak>. I looked behind me down the hall and saw nothing. “Oh please God, don’t let me be hallucinating.” Surely lack of sleep can cause that but it’s the last thing I need now. I walk to the bedroom door and slowly push the door open as it gives off a very familiar ‘creeaak’. I stand in the open doorway looking into the room, “Oh God, please let me be hallucinating!”
When we bought the house, it came with white carpets in the living room, family room and master bedroom and a light colored tight-knit Berber carpet in what was now the children’s room. We furnished our home with an off-white loveseat, sofa and puffy reading chair and ottoman in the living room and an off-white sectional in the family room. We even splurged for a beautiful white fluffy sheepskin rug to put in front of the fireplace. Although it was a mutual decision to keep this carpet and buy this furniture, if you ask me today, I will adamantly deny having any part in the decision, I just came home from work one day and there it was.
I stood in the open doorway, mouth frozen in an “O” of shock and surprise. Star was on the opposite side of the towel facing me, her back to the pull-out sofa that we read to our children on, butt in the air, tail wagging, back sloping downward to her lowered head. Her mouth was gaping and her tongue was lolling out. Her front feet stretched out in front of her with…. stalagmites of poop squishing upward through the toes of her left front paw? The diaper was still on the towel but its contents clearly stamped and just to the left of Star’s sullied foot I could see a definite poopy paw print ground into the carpet. I let out a repetitive, “no, no, no, no, no…” as I was left dumbfounded, not only at the amount of cleaning that I was faced with but, that Star had chosen this particular moment to demonstrate that she was fully capable of playing.
I didn’t have to be Nostradamus to know that one of…well, one things was about to happen. Star was fully committed to “play”. As I slowly crept towards her, she’s hit with a surge of excitement and spun 180 degrees, planting her left rear foot in the diaper and as she pushed off to make her leap onto the sofa, she launched the diaper and particles of poo across the room. ‘This can’t be happening! Maybe it’s not, I’m just having a nightmare’, and for sure, this was a nightmare in the making.
Star ran to my left the entire length of the sofa as I leapt over the towel. She jumped from the sofa to the floor and flanked me on the left going around my daughter, and now running for the open door, Star stepped her right front paw into the relocated diaper then her, why not have a matching set, right rear paw as she exited the bedroom. Star was now in a full sprint. I followed the “Blue’s Clues” brown paw prints out of the children’s room, across the hallway, through the tarnished family room and into the living room.
Star was already in her newly discovered play pose again: front paws reaching out in front, butt in the air, grin on her face, standing on the fluffy now-not-so-white sheepskin rug. She drummed her front paws from side to side leaving dark paw prints with every beat. I continued to repeat the mantra, ‘no, no, no, no,…’ as panic set in. I extended my arms out to somehow corral her. Star bolted and jumped up onto the loveseat and as I foolishly made a head-on assault, she ran the length of the loveseat before jumping catty-corner to the sofa.
Failing to learn from my past mistakes, I attempted another frontal attack but she advanced her carefree entertainment to the left redecorating the entire length of the sofa with ‘Shades-of-Brown’ polka dots. She jumped from the sofa over the glass top end table to the puffy reading chair and spun 360 degrees in the tight seat. I lumbered towards her in full panic mode with no real plan of attack now but I had to stop her. Star exited the puffy chair and used the ottoman as a launch pad and button-hooked the entryway back into the family room. As I made my way to the adjoining room, I could hear her prancing on the sectional couch. ‘This has to end… Now! ‘, a sentiment not shared by Star however.
I entered the family room slowly, shoulders slumped, face to the ceiling, stomping my feet, whining like an impertinent four year old child, apparently just the attitude to encourage Star to escalate her irrepressible playtime. She’s having an absolute blast! I’m having an absolute nervous breakdown!
Star trots along every inch of every cushion of the sectional before taking this literal “shit-show” to the master bedroom. I’ve lost control and, frankly, my mind. I hear Star on our bed spinning twirlies. I felt the warm sting of tears beginning to line my eyelids as I stumbled to the master bedroom. Star stopped mid-spin and stared at me. This is it! This is where it ends!
I slowly made my way to the foot of the bed and I lunged at Star wrapping my arms around her neck. She reared back and took me with her. Star is on her back, poop covered back feet kicking at my thighs and abdomen, poop covered front paws slapping my head, face and shoulders. We’re both 135 pounds, evenly matched, she’s had a good night’s sleep, I’m pumped full of adrenaline and covered head to thigh in poop, we’ll see who gives up first.
Star began to weaken, ‘Aha! I have her!’ I let up on my grip but she gave one last hardy blow with her left rear foot to my stomach throwing me off. My back hit the mattress and I bounced off the bed. As they say, “bread always lands buttered-side down” and I did, “Splat”, face down on the carpet. I’m done! I rolled over onto my back leaving a mirrored poop impression from my face, shirt and jeans on the carpet next to me, it looked like a giant Rorschach ink-blot. I hear Star, defeated, climb down from the opposite side of the bed and roll up on her dog bed, playtime is done. Our home’s interior, our furnishings, my clothes all turned into a brown-period Jackson Pollock painting. So much for Star not having any creativity.
I roll to my knees and crawl to the children’s room, my daughter still dutifully lying on the towel. I clean her up, adhere a clean diaper to her in some manner, how or where it was placed I don’t know, didn’t care. I placed her back in her crib and fell back to my knees in front of the towel I had laid on the floor, ironically it’s the only thing in the house without a speck of poop on it. I’m still for a moment as my wife’s departing words taunt me, “Oh, and I cleaned the whole house last night so you don’t have to today.” I began to laugh and weep, a sure sign my sanity was slipping, as I considered the monumental task of cleaning the carpets, the furniture, the bedding, my clothes, myself and the dog; not necessarily in that order. I wondered if I had the strength, after all, I was utterly and literally pooped.
All things considered though, I think it’s safe to say that Star’s first and last attempt at play was an unmitigated disaster! She returned to her elegant, regal, playless self and I for one couldn’t have been happier.
- J. M. M.
hhttps://lifegetstricky.com
