The Broken Booty

The Broken Booty

Daisy the Wonder Dog was pitched online as a “lab-mix puppy who is lovable, adorable and great with kids.” Somewhere there was no safety warning posted that may have diverted our attention to another dog, had it said, “Daisy the Wonder Dog, while appearing to be a docile dog, actually has a secret agenda to take down Su.” No, apparently, I would have to learn this the hard way.

While Dave went with Jack to pick up Daisy Christmas Eve morning, I took Delaney and Max to American Girl for our traditional brunch (well, traditional with Delaney, Max was the ‘bonus add-on’). I will admit up front that after discussing the morning activities, Dave and I decided that it would be in the best interest of all involved if Max did not go to fetch Daisy the Wonder Dog. After all, this is the4-year old kid who beat up the school security guard, prompting a mandatory meeting with the school administration and just about every social service organization imaginable. The last thing we needed was for the foster parents to say, “You know what, that Max…hmm…he’s a little pit-bull, huh? We may need to rethink the adoption.” Instead, we sent our lovable teddy bear Jack who oozes charm, good looks and suffers from middle child syndrome, making this pick-up the perfect gift for Jack.

After an eventful morning at American Girl, from taming the wild child at a girly brunch, to Delaney exclaiming, “I’m not feeling so well…” “Here, throw up in my hat, no one will notice!” (true story, I think we are forever banned from returning) I was anxious to come home and find out if our lovable new pet would fit in with the family. “Su, meet Daisy.” “Daisy, meet Su.” As we sized each other up, I said, “Now Ms. Daisy, let’s just remember who’s the boss here. No, not Dave – although we can pretend when he’s around – that would be me. Got it? I’m in charge.” To which Daisy looked at me with her puppy dog eyes and muttered, “Yeah right. I’m all cute looking, you’ll fall in love, and then watch out. I can take you down. Game on, girlfriend.”

While Dave gathered the troops for church, and I stayed home to hold back Delaney’s hair while she prayed to the porcelain gods, I volunteered to take Daisy the Wonder Dog for a walk. Now Dave got some fancy, weird looking leash that had a handle by the collar, as well as the end of the leash. Not being briefed on how exactly to use the leash, I awkwardly bent down to walk her by the handle close to her collar, which made it appear to any passerby that I was likely suffering from a severe case of scoliosis, or attempting to ‘get on the same level’ as Daisy the Wonder Dog. Needless to say, walking half twisted with a 35-pound puppy was a challenge for someone as non-athletic as me. One would think those high-school cheerleading moves would have helped as I twisted myself into a human pretzel being led by the dog, but alas old age, snow and being pathetically out of shape rendered me useless in the battle of “Su vs. Canine.” One chirp of a bird, and Daisy was off leaving me in a pile on the sidewalk.

When Dave came back home from church, noticing both Delaney and I laying on the couch, he asked, “What happened to you?” “Well, I took Daisy for a walk. I think I pulled a muscle. And by the way, what is up with the leash?” Dave replied, “That leash is to help her know who’s in charge. Clearly, it sounds like she was walking you, not you walking her. You have to teach her who’s in charge.” I retorted, “I know, I know, Daisy and I had that conversation earlier, I think she’s trying to kill me.” I swear I saw Daisy give Dave a wink that said, “I know, we’ll pretend like Su’s in charge, but I’ve got her figured out.”

Three days later, on December 27th, after learning from the vet that our lovable lab-mix was most likely a pit-bull mix (“You don’t live in a condo do you, she might be a prohibited breed for some associations” – great, I guess this is good that we have a house, right?), we packed up the car, the kids, the dog and ventured to the great white north, also known as the lake house in Michigan. After settling in, Dave took the kids out to his folks house leaving me alone with Daisy. “Daisy, listen, let’s get this straight. I’m in charge, I’m the alpha dog. You may have upgraded your status from Lab to Pit-Bull, but once again, let’s get this straight, I’m in charge. You cannot kill me, ‘K?” I believe Daisy rolled her eyes as I reached down, with the crazy leash, and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

In our walk, I decided that with my new Wii Fit Christmas Gift, I would start the almost-new year out right and go for a long walk. We have 15 acres in Michigan, and I was going to search out every nook and cranny of the property with Daisy, putting to rest, any questions of who was in charge. After stepping out the front door, and walking behind the house, I suddenly realized that “Snow, ice, birds and hills” make for a bad combination when Daisy the Wonder Dog is on a walk. I tumbled down the icy hill doing my best “tuck and roll” but realized that only helps if you’re on fire, not ‘pretend sledding without a sled.’ Daisy, realizing that “Hey, ‘Mama Dog Owner’ has fallen down and can’t get up” ran over by my side waiting for me to get back up. I would like to think that Daisy did this simply out of sympathy and concern for her owner that has treats in her pocket, but truth be told, she probably came and sat next to simply to rub in my face that in the battle of Su vs. Canine, Daisy is clearly winning.

As Dave came home, and saw me with my bloody leg propped up, he said, “What happened to you?” And after retelling the story of how Daisy was trying to kill me today, Dave said, “Remember, she needs to know who’s in charge. You need to walk her, not vice versa.” OK, sympathetic husband, I’m hearing you loud and clear but now we’re in war mode. The battle is clearly on.

We made our way back to Chicago with no further incidents. I was looking forward to our traditional Kenmore-street progressive NYE party, where past and current Kenmore residents get drunk from one house to the next without any concerns of driving. Bliss! Dinner was at our house, and Daisy the Wonder Dog charmed all the neighbors. “What type of dog is she? She’s so cute.” Pit-bull, only cute until she is trying to kill you. “She’s so sweet, ah, look how great she is with the kids.” Kids yes, owners, well, that’s another story.

As we made our way to our neighbor Jill’s house, Jill said, “Hey, why won’t you bring Daisy with you. I’m sure Bella, our boxer, would love the company.” And having just enough alcohol in me, I enthusiastically responded thinking that this would be a great idea. I kept one eye on Daisy, and one eye on my glass of wine. At 11:30, as we began the parental, “Geez, is midnight ever going to get here, I can barely stay awake” chant, I asked a very simple question to Jack. “Jack – do you know where Daisy is? “ It appeared that I spent too much time eyeing my glass of wine, and not enough time keeping an eye on Daisy. “Oh yeah, Mommy, I think she’s in Jill’s basement.”

Remembering that Jill has cats, and they reside in the rafters in the basement, I thought it would be a good idea to get Daisy out of the basement – after all, cat fights are best between girls, not cats, and definitely not between Daisy and Jill’s cats. “Daisy, are you down there?”, I said as I stepped on the first step. And just as Daisy was saying, “Yep, I’m down here. Whaddya going to do about that, girlfriend? Game on, come on down,” I slipped on the first step of a long flight of slippery, hard, non-carpeted wooden stairs.

I’ve often heard when faced with imminent danger, people have their lives flash before their eyes. When faced with imminent injury, I had the longest conversation known to man with myself, “OMG, I can’t believe I am falling down an entire flight of stairs. Where is Dave? How come he is never around when I’m injuring myself? I really hope this doesn’t hurt too bad in the morning. I can’t believe the dog is winning. She really is trying to kill me. How many freaking steps are there – did Jill dig her basement out an additional eight feet ?” And as I found myself in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Daisy the Wonder Dog comes over to me, gives me a quick lick on the cheek, and then promptly runs up the stairs, the equivalent of giving me the doggie-finger with a triumphant wag of her tail, “I’m winning, you’re losing. In fact, I can guarantee you, you will be a SORE loser.”

In an effort not to embarrass myself any further than necessary, I stand up, dust myself off and hobble back up the stairs to the festivities above. “Here Su, champagne, perfect to ring in the New Year.” Perfect, more alcohol to take the edge of my butt, that was clearly on fire – perhaps that tuck and roll maneuver would have been a better option than the ‘let me ride down the stairs on my tail bone, one bump at a time.’ After ringing in the New Year, I sheepishly admitted to Jill, “Hey, umm…I took a tumble down your basement stairs. I think I need to go home and take some Tylenol.” Jill quickly responded, “Su, you should have held on the hand railing, those are the worst stairs. I broke my hand last Christmas falling down the stairs.” O.K., that would have been good information to have perhaps 45 minutes ago.

I woke up on the 1st of January with a pain-in-the-ass, slightly hung over, stupor. “Dave, do I have any bruises? I can barely walk.” To which Dave responded, “Huh? Did you fall or something?” Oh, yeah, that’s right, Dave was nowhere to be found while I became one with Jill’s stairs. I relayed the story to him to which Dave replied, “You know, it’s not fair that you keep on blaming Daisy. It’s really not her fault that you are so clumsy.” Since I can’t blame Daisy according to Dave, I quickly yelled for the kids and once lined up next to my bed, “Kids – which one of you stepped on a crack and broke my back?” They all pointed at Max, with Max responding, “I was only kidding Mommy.”

I sent a text to our good friend Pete, also our pediatrician, inquiring what I could do about a bruise quickly taking over my entire back-side. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s nothing. And frankly, even if it was something, there is nothing anyone can do. Tough it out.” And with those wise words of a pediatrician that could only offer up Children’s Tylenol for my sore booty, I did just that. I toughed it out for the day, and then finally on the 2nd tried calling my doctor. “I’m sorry, but the office is closed today for a staff meeting. “ Ugh, I can barely walk, and my doc is at a staff meeting. I will muster on, and yet one more day passes without any medical help. On Saturday, the 3rd, having taken just about enough of the pain, and the sideway glances from Daisy the Wonder Dog, I finally talked to the on-call doctor. “Well, I would love to prescribe something for your pain, but really, you need to get an x-ray. We have no openings until Monday, so I would suggest you head over to the ER.” Now, anyone that lives in Chicago knows, don’t go to the ER unless you are 1. Brought in by an ambulance or 2. Get hit by a bullet. Those are really the only two things that will ins6ure you are seen quickly, otherwise expect to spend 4-6 hours waiting in the chairs. “That’s okay, I’ll wait until Monday.”

After 5 long days of eating Tylenol like they were candy, barely able to sit or move, and responding to Dave’s questions of “Hey, do you think you could walk the dog” with a snarl and growl, I headed to Northwestern Memorial to get the tailbone checked out. As I was walking out of the door to drive myself to the hospital, Daisy gave me that look that said, “Geez, kinda sorry about all of this. But I’m not done with you yet. You just wait.”

I checked in on the 4th floor, waited patiently for my number to be called and hobbled back in to x-ray. “Yep, looks like you fractured and dislodged your tailbone. Nothing we can do about this, except give you some good drugs.” And as I was leaving, fairly depressed and thinking, surely, things can’t get any worse, I look up only to see my ex-Father in law sitting in the x-ray lobby at NMH. Seriously? “God, I know you have a sense of humor, but this is not funny! When I was born, did my parents sign up for one of everything? Don’t they have an invisible fence around Wheaton shocking anyone that tries to leave the premises? Ugh….that Daisy….” And without the ability to run or hide, I hobbled out of NMH with my tail between my legs – ironic since Daisy has yet to show me her tail between her legs – having given up and throwing in the white flag in the great battle of “Su vs. Canine.”