To discuss Weekend Update Part II: Fat cats, small dogs, shaved dignity

PetSmart has a special place in my heart.
It's where Capricorn and I went on our second date (as detailed here). It also marks the place I realized Capricorn loves putting outfits on small dogs, such as Bailey, my chiweenie. Coincidentally, it marks the place I realized Bailey hates wearing outfits.
So whenever Capricorn and I make a return visit, as we did this past weekend (here's Part I of the Weekend Update), it's always memorable.
We brought Bailey with us, as well as Capricorn's chihuahua, Leo. We're slowly getting Bailey and Leo to become best friends, although Capricorn doesn't like it when Leo sniffs Bailey's manhood. She wants them to be friends, not friends with gay benefits. I've caught them spooning before, too.

Two things always happen when I bring Bailey to PetSmart:

• He goes No. 2 within 10 minutes. He didn't fail me this time, either. We think it's because he gets nervous being around other dogs, as it's not like him to open butt fire in a public place like that. At least he doesn't do what daddy does when he gets nervous. Nobody likes a drunk doggie... Just kidding. I don't drink when I get nervous. I do crystal meth.
• Shoppers come up and say how cute he is. This would be fun, except Bailey is protective of me and growls. Leo, however, eats this up. He'll take attention wherever he can get it, like a Real World castmate doing their 6th season of The Gauntlet even though they're 40 and balding.

This time, however, a little boy came up to me while I was holding Bailey.
"Hey, is that the dog from 'Beverly Hills Chihuahua'?" the boy asked.
Bailey looked up at me like, "This kid rides the short bus."
"No, no, not quite, dude. He's a chihuahua, but not the one on the movie," I replied before hatching a plan to make Bailey a famous star.

As Capricorn and I made our way to the back of the store, we saw the captive cats. None of these cats ever look happy to be there. But at least I can tell PetSmart is feeding them well, as evident by this cat to the right. It must weigh over 20 pounds.
If the cat was a child, his parents would tell him God loves him just the way he is and he doesn't have to change but if he could lay off the chocolates a little bit that would be great so mommy and daddy don't have to hide his pudgy tummy on the beach. Since he's a cat, though, I was allowed to point and laugh at the fatty catty. The cat was larger than Leo and Bailey combined.

Capricorn had been worried about Leo escaping through an open doorway during my moving day, coming up at the end of the month. She wanted him around, but didn't want to carry him. Her idea: Get a puppy pouch.
This idea lasted about 20 seconds after she put on one of these bags and declared that she looked pregnant.
I had a brief thought that I should tell her to put her shirt over Leo, take a photo, send it to my mom and say, "Surprise, Grandma!"
That also lasted about 20 seconds, as I love my mother and would feel remorse if I gave her a heart attack.

If you ever want to watch something pathetic, watch any episode of Rock of Love Bus observe fluffy dogs getting hair cuts.
I just can't think the dogs want to look like they are Sheer Genius rejects. Bailey never needs hair cuts, so I'm fortunate there.
But if he did, I don't think I'd ask for the "You know what? Shave off everything except the tail and the face. I want his body to look like someone squished the middle of a Twinkie."
Is there a reality show about dog groomers? There must be, right? Please let me know, so I can boycott it.
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All right, I need to get back to packing. Moving is not fun. I hear rich people just call someone to pack up there stuff and move it for them. Yet another reason to despise the wealthy... Unless I become wealthy. I am not above retracting statements.

To discuss Grey's Anatomy: Vet Edition

First off, look at these photos (before and after), and shed a small tear. This is a dog who has been emasculated, and he's already been neutered.

To get up to date on the Chiweenie, read yesterday's post. To get up to date on me, read every single one of my posts and interview any mentioned ex-girlfriends.
I came home around noon today to take Bailey to the vet for the first time since I moved to Pa.
The vet required what is delicately referred to as a "stool sample," which makes it sound like they want furniture floor models, when what they really want is for me to Ziploc the same crap that every other day I throw away. It does, however, make me feel like a scientist, like on Jurassic Park when the archaeologists discover the Triceratops dung... the only difference is I don't get eaten by Bailey later.

I gave Bailey a pep talk, drove to the vet, and was glad to see no other animals were in the waiting room. That's usually the bad part, when somebody's Doberman-- "who is usually so nice. I don't know what came over him today"-- tries to bite my face off.
It's just Bailey, me and Stool Sample waiting near four or five attractive vet assistants, who all looked like they could audition if Grey's Anatomy does a vet spin-off.
You could tell they were trying to figure out what type of dog he is, or perhaps, if he was just an overgrown squirrel that I had managed to tame and put a leash on.
We get taken to the back, where Izzie takes the sample off my hands. How many times a day does she handle dog feces? That's got to be a terrible job.
She and Meredith immediately begin fawning over Bailey, who looks scared shitless on the metal table. Meredith says "She looks so cute." I immediately worry that Meredith is a professional vet and doesn't know how to identify a female dog from a male dog. I briefly consider demonstrating, but then back off.
I run out to grab some forms, while the Grey's interns rape Bailey's sphincter with a thermometer. It's a good thing humans don't use rectal thermometers. That could lead to a whole new set of mommy issues.
After the sphincter raping, they take Bailey back to get a heartworm test, i.e. stick him with a needle- he eventually gets prodded enough during the afternoon to qualify as cattle.
The head vet barges in, wearing a retro haircut and sleeveless scrubs. I didn't know they made them sleeveless. Evidently, she wants to intimidate the dogs into submission with her East Germany arms.
She quickly rattles off a variety of possible causes for Bailey's incessant paw licking, including allergies, parasites, chemical exposure and others- I lost count and they all probably are tied to al Quaeda, anyway. The Grey's team (which makes head vet Dr. Bailey in this contrived metaphor) whisks Bailey away again as he looks sadder and sadder that I'd let Izzie molest him so much with sharp objects.
Dr. Bailey performs a "skin scrape," which is exactly as painful as it sounds, to test for parasites (came out negative... they didn't let me take home the skin for a keepsake).
The final determination came down to allergies or something related, so they gave me some pills and medicated wipes and an E-Collar, which now makes Bailey's head look a bowl of cereal. It may very well be a low point in his life. I mean, a male dog should be able to lick his genitals whenever and however he wants- it's what separates him from humans. Now, he can't lick anywhere.
He also has a yeast infection in between his paws, which either means he's been hiding the fact he's a woman, or he works at a bakery during the day while I'm gone.
Oh, the final bill, including heartworm prevention meds, paw infection meds, booster shots, rectal raping and the Queen Elizabeth fall fashion show, totaled $295.
I'd say that's a horrendous amount, except it's always that much and nothing surprises me anymore.
At least it's fun to watch Bailey try to maneuver around with his new accessory. It's the small things in life, you know?

To discuss a dog with more issues than you

I'm taking Bailey to the vet this afternoon, which is both scary and great.

Scary, because you always get a little nervous the vet will find something wrong with your pet (last time, they discovered he has a heart murmur, which makes his heart beat like a Nelly Furtado song). And scary because it freaking costs a freaking lot of money for freaking everything.

Great, because it gives me a reasonable excuse to talk about my dog, which I try not to do often since I don't want to be one of "those" guys that talks about their pet like anyone gives a crap.
Some things you should know about Bailey:

• He's a chihuahua/dachshund mix, a.k.a. a Chiweenie, a.k.a. likeliest dog to become the neighborhood bitch of other dogs.
• I adopted him from an animal shelter, where Ex-Fiance and I were told no one else wanted him because he was weird. For some reason, no alarms went off in our head. Hmm.
• He has a small chunk missing out of his right ear, making his already gigantic ears look even stranger. I'm hoping it was because he used to get in gang fights with other dogs, with one vicious fight ending with him, sans full ear, telling other dogs, "You should see the other guy," as he smokes a cigarette and the other dog limps away with his testicles ripped off.
• He does dumb things, often involving fecal matter. Examples: When driving from Connecticut to Pennsylvania in the early days of owning him, Bailey, who usually curls up and sleeps in the passenger seat, jumped on to my lap. He looked up at me as we cruised down the highway, arched his back, and took a giant dump all over me.... Example 2: Bailey follows me everywhere, and I mean everywhere. So at one point earlier this year, I had just sat down on the porcelain throne. The bathroom door was ajar, and in walks Bailey. He has a strange look on his ugly mug. Within a second, he is tip-pawing across the bathroom floor, right in front of me, as he dispenses diarrhea everywhere like a chocolate fire hose. I gasp in horror, as I see Bailey continue his Trail of Poopy Tears back toward the door and onto the carpeted hallway. With my pants still around my ankles, I lunge after his pulsating rear end with a Kleenex to catch the remains of this running brown tragedy. Moments later, he's done and calmly walks away. I survey the scene around me-- pants down, tissue full of dog nastiness, poop all around (but not on) me-- and I decided it might just be time to call it quits on life.
• He humps things, even though he's fixed. In the first days of owning him in 2005, Ex-Fiance and I already had adopted her Pomeranian, Lucy (who, at one point, jumped into a toilet and stood there like she was in a bird bath). Lucy was spayed. Lucy did not appreciate Bailey trying to hump her like an audition for Bailey Bangs Baltimore in the days leading up to his neutering appointment. He also humped one pillow with such disdain and vigor that I'd come home from work every day with stuffing littering the floor like a fallen cloud, incriminating pieces of pillow stuffing clinging on his disproportionally large mantool.... And even now, every so often, I catch him trying to hump something. Just like dad.
• He's an awesome dog. We spoon every night.
  

His appointment today is to investigate why he's licking all of his paws incessantly, giving new meaning to the phrase "Lap dog." It may be allergies; it may be skin irritation; it may be he needs the touch of a good woman. I already mentioned how Sister and I looked at potential partners for Bailey, and how that ended in scary metal pipe images. Here's hoping today's appointment isn't as scary. I'll update you later.