Sad news for fans of the Official Muddled Dog: We’ve been busted. You see, the ol’ gal is substantially larger than the nominal limit for our neighborhood. Even at her ideal weight she would be quite a bit too big.
The rule is very inconsistently enforced, however; so as long as no one complains, management is willing to not see the big dog. Well, we’re getting new neighbors and before they moved in they complained. Management has notified us that our quiet, gentle, well-behaved dog must go.
Looking for a home, once again.
To my new neighbors I say, “The next time your &*$#^*@ fence is on fire, there won’t be a dog around to alert people to the trouble.” (True fact: OMD raised the alarm a few days ago when a fence was burning. Just like in Reader’s Digest.) But, I remind myself, we were the ones breaking a rule, we knew we were breaking it, and the neighbors have every right to be jerks and rat on our dog before talking to us. They don’t know us, they don’t know how we would react. The era of neighborliness is sadly over. How long ago was it that when something bothered a neighbor they just went and knocked on the door before calling in higher authority?
Now there’s someone who’s bed is maybe thirty feet from mine, whom I’ve never met, that has pissed me off. Part of me wants to get a new dog that fits the regulations and barks nonstop.
But that’s not constructive. What is constructive is helping to find this fine animal her permanent home. Apparently our role in her life is an interim stop between old and new homes, so we can make sure she lands in a good place.
Please, especially if you’re in the Bay Area, put the word out that there’s eighty pounds of unconditional love just looking for someone who needs her.
It’s going to be really tough to say goodbye.
Vital statistics –
age: 6
shots: all caught up
weight: over
kids, with: awesome
other dogs, with: untested
hips: prone to stiffness
breed: bulldog of some sort.
discipline: High. Not much training, but tell her what to do and she will. Except drop the tennis ball. Still working on that one.
love: unlimited
moochiness: she won’t beg for food, won’t take food off your untended plate, but she’ll cry for an ear rub. Big time.
I can’t do anything to help, so I’ll just stew in my impotent rage. That’s all kinds of not cool, right there.
It turns out that the neighbor in question wasn’t so much a jerk after all.
When we signed our paperwork, we thought we’d be getting two smaller dogs. That’s against the rules. “But family X has two dogs,” we said. “I didn’t hear that,” the manager replied.
It turns out the conversation our new neighbors had was similar, but there was one glaring difference: The owner of the property our house sits on was in the room. The manager couldn’t answer “I didn’t hear that.” “I’ll take care of it,” was her only choice.
The result is the same; the Round Mound of Hound must go. But it was pure bad luck, not a matter of someone whining or selective enforcement of the rules.
Just… bad luck.