Mario Puzo wrote The Godfather in 1972 that became a popular string of mafia movies. I’m re-purposing this story under the pseudo name of “Pup”zo (Or “Pug”zo), as a tribute to my life as the dog sitter.  As most are aware, GOD spelled backwards is DOG, man’s best friend. I’m trying to be a better “capo” to my dogs, but I’m still struggling to fulfill the role of “The Dogfather” that has uncharacteristically developed into an enjoyable part of my retirement. Honestly, being the owner of two schnauzers was not necessarily by choice, but rather the fact that I married a dog lover. Otherwise, I would have probably never taken on the responsibility. As it is, they are often my sole companions throughout the day until my wife gets home from work. I’m sure they would rather have her by their side all day, as evidenced by their enthusiasm when they hear her car pull in the garage every evening. In the meantime, they are stuck with me, “The Dogfather,” an offer they can’t refuse! 

I begrudgingly take them out at least five times a day, but in most cases I’m tempted get them back inside as quickly as possible, often depriving them of the exercise they need. They’ve learned how to stall. Tinker probably appreciates these shorter outings because old age has made her stiff and sore like her master. Tally, on the other hand, cannot get enough walks every day and mopes sadly to her “good bed” as soon as we gets back. She moves only when she hears to the words, “go outside” and reacts with vigor. Tinker is always near me throughout the day and moves only when I do (particularly if I open the refrigerator), while Tally typically remains stoic and in a state of mild depression. I used to walk them occasionally down to the neighborhood Starbuck’s, but Tinker basically drags herself along while Tally leads the charge. As a result, it’s no longer part of “The Dogfather” daily routine.

On sunny days, I will let them out on the back patio and take them on longer excursions. Unfortunately, it’s often cold and rainy here in Portland and they both hate water. I feel guilty when I’m comfortably inside by choice while they must feel trapped. We don’t have a back yard that allows them to roam freely, and neither are trustworthy enough to let outside on their own. I’m also just “The Dogfather” not the “Dog Whisperer,” so I don’t have the communication skills of my wife. She doesn’t feel like I pay enough attention to them while she’s at the office and is often frustrated that they need so much attention when she’s trying to unwind after a tough day. I can’t possibly fill her shoes as “The Dogmother.” They like her better and compete for one-on-one time with her, regardless of what I do for them each day.

I’ve never been very nurturing, so “The Dogfather” is probably an accurate description of me. Don Vito Corleone was not exactly the epitome of goodness, although he took care of the “family.” I apply the eye drops, pick up the poop, shuttle them to Vet/spa appointments, and take them on car rides. Also, I frequently administer “ham time,” but simply don’t have the patience to put on their fancy little coats every time I take them outside, as my wife encourages. To me, they are dogs but to her they are cute, furry gods and she treats them better. I’m reminded of this poem: 

Oh to be a dog 

In the next life,
This is my wish.
Give me a bone,
And my own dish.

Then I can snore,
And scratch my butt.
I’d be no pure breed,
I’d return as a mutt.

I’d sleep all the time,
Chew on a boot.
Then lick myself,
And smile real cute.

Woman’s best friend,
At men I would growl.
And when I was hungry,
I would just howl.

My greatest desire,
If I did come back.
Should I be fortunate,
To get another crack.

Just to be sure,
I’d have the perfect life.
I’d want my master,
To be my current wife.

Copyright 2016 johnstonwrites.com