It’s a Dog’s Life!

by Jeff Marshall

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I have been transitioning the last few months as I move in with my dad and take care of him since my mom passed away in December.

Overall, the move has gone relatively smoothly. As the weather improves – FINALLY! – I will be able to finish moving in the rest of my things, make decisions what stays and what goes, all that fun stuff. I just turned 42 a few days ago – this could prove to be a very interesting year.

Anyway, one of the biggest changes in my life has concerned the dogs in my life. Faithful readers will recall I owned two 40 pound beagles – Woodstock and Tommy. Both have been staying with my brother and sister-in-law, who are basically king and queen of the animal kingdom. Woodstock is adjusting wonderfully well; however, due to some behavioral issues and friction with the other animals in their house, I must find a new home for Tommy. In a nutshell, he’s eaten one too many pairs of shoes and peed on the carpet once too often. So if you’re looking for a friendly, loving, hyper, jealous, schizophrenic, shoe-eating, carpet peeing canine, give me a call!

Dad has two chihuahuas – Franklin and Amigo. Just to reiterate, I had become accustomed over the last couple years to 40 pounds of dog jumping onto my lap, damaging certain Jeff organs beyond repair. I am now dealing with two dogs who probably combined weigh as much as Woodstock’s pancreas. Talk about an adjustment!

I must be brutally honest. I am not generally a fan of chihuahuas, and in the past, I made that very clear to both of them. When they’re wet they look like rats, and anything that reminds me of a rat is cause for concern and immediate therapy. They yip and yap rather than bark and howl. You’d might as well just give me a chalkboard and Dolly Parton’s fingernails.

That being said, as the weeks have gone by, a bond has begun to form, and I’ve started to not only accentuate the positive but even eliminate the negative. Small bodies equal small poopies, which I MUCH prefer. They can sit on my lap and walk on my shoulders without me needing medical assistance afterwards. Franklin even sleeps with me every night, although I constantly wake up and make sure I haven’t rolled over and crushed his frail little 4 pound frame.

So, as I begin this next chapter in The Jeff Marshall Story: A Tale of Terror, I have two new friends to help me along the way, yipping and yapping every step we take!