“That was quick,” I hear you exclaim. First the big reunion scene (I moved back into the bedroom, in case you missed, or misunderstood, the last post) and now ovulated, gestated and gave birth all in the last 24 hours? Is the progeny definitely the husband’s, or perhaps the strumpet wasn’t even sleeping in that guest room, but with some himbo across town? And if it is indeed the husband’s, should Guinness be notified about this record-breaking miracle?
As someone who writes regularly about chafing against the bonds of motherhood, marriage and any form of commitment, responsibility or having-to-get-out-of-bed-ness, it seems incredible that I would willingly take on still more. But biology is a stern Mistress, and my ovaries are not made of steel.
Consider the fact that my two children were born a little more than eleven months apart. Like Britney Spears, I have no capacity for planning, forethought or reason. Three months after the first one was born, I suddenly looked over at the man who probably still had some kind of baby detritus in his hair and said, “C’mere sailor…” That was the amount of thought that went into that life changing decision. On the plus side, I never shaved my head.
But in a moment you will understand why I was powerless to gird myself against the pining of my maternal soul…
This is Mordecai, an approximately three month rescue puppy found wandering around in Thousand Oaks. I wasn’t there, but I like to think he was like, “Oh my G-d, would somebody get me out of the Valley. I totally need to be over the hill. It is so suburban here…”
Someone in the parking lot of one of the seventeen twelve step programs I belong to, overheard me talking about our current Doodle Lila, who cost so much money that every time someone says “Oh she’s so cute, is she a mutt?” it makes my husband’s eye twitch. Anyway, this fellow Alkie came up and said “Hey you have a Doodle?”
“Yes,” I replied cautiously, thinking he might be trying to Thirteenth Step me. In case you are not privy to program lingo, the Thirteenth Step means trying to fuck a newcomer. Not that I’m a newcomer, but maybe he didn’t know that. And I did look particularly fetching that day in my sweat pants and Ugg Boots…
“Do you want another Doodle?” he interrupted my reverie before I had another moment to imagine that someone might actually try to pick up a Jewish girl in a Church parking lot.
“Yes,” I said, because the kids have added another dog to their daily list of whines, and clearly if I didn’t get one, I would be forced to start drinking again.
“Okay, I’ll go get it, you can have it today!” In typical Alkie fashion, it all had to happen RIGHT NOW.
Well, it turns out this is no Doodle, not a Golden Doodle, nor a Labradoodle, nor Strudel, and the next day I took him to the vet and went through the check list. Balls – check. Microchipped – No. Age – Approximately three months or a terrific plastic surgeon.
The vet’s best guess was Cockapoo, although another friend swears he’s a Whoodle. I am stunned by how quickly this little darling has become an integral part of our family. My husband was just glad he was free.
Unfortunately we live on a big hill, and while I have never actually seen a coyote (only bunnies, several deer and a bunch of probably endangered birds that Lila enjoys toying with until they die) the statistics are not good for a dog of this size. While he is outside, I have to trail him like those “Shadows” the Autistic kids have on the playground at school who you’re supposed to pretend are not there.
My sons decided on “Mordecai” because of a character on their favorite show, esoterically entitled “Regular Show.” Their second choice was “Mr. Violence.” I voted for “Eagle Hors D’oeuvre” but I was overruled.
The picture above was emailed to me by a Japanese tourist who kindly shot our new baby with a Canon EOS, as promised (for some reason in black and white.) G-d I love the Japanese… Maybe Mordecai is a Shi-Poo (or a “Shit-poo” as I say when I want to make my kids laugh and also ensure that they never get into a good college.)
I know one thing for sure, he is perfect for me as he is desperately clingy and obsessed with me! Also he is likely an Ethiopian Jew, so he is worthy of our respect. Mostly I pray that when seen from above by a predator, he looks like an inedible fruit bat.