Our Dog the Mental Case

As I’ve mentioned a few times already Lil is SUPER anxious and neurotic and awkward and ridiculous. She has multiple issues that could probably only be cured through doggy therapy but we don’t have money for that so we deal with her psychosis as best as we can.

When we take Lil for a walk, since we are in the city, we encounter a lot of people. Some of them are weird, some of them are normal and some of them are holding umbrellas. Lil doesn’t like any of the above. She doesn’t like anyone that she doesn’t know really. And to be honest, even the people she does know sometimes freak her out.

Example:

She has lived with us in the same apartment in the same building since we brought her home from the shelter. For anyone who lives/has lived in an apartment building, there tend to be certain people you see more often than others. There are people you are friendly with and there are people you kind of ignore (because they are old, and drunk and tend to look you up and down about 30 times while kindaaaa drooling). As far as the friendly people in our building go, some have dogs, but ALL of them adoreeee Lil. They have watched her grow up and interacted with her on a very regular basis. She’s deceivingly normal. (sidenote: Tom and I have nicknamed most people in the building ex. Nice Guy, Foreign Monopoly Man, Hot Wife) Last week, on our way out for our morning walk, Lil and I get in the elevator to find Scruffy Friendly Guy. As his name implies he’s very nice and scruffy and loves Lil. Sometimes Lil hates him, sometimes she’s curious but she typically kinda stays away. Today, she was sleepy and wanted to snuggle so she goes over and puts her head into his hand and steps on his foot with her paw. Too much cute, I know. He’s petting her and just dying that she’s allowing this. The elevator door opens and I start trying to walk to the door. NOPE. Lil needs to make sure Scruffy is coming too. So all three of us walk out of the building together.  After a few steps, I try to get Lil across the street to the designated doggy doodoo area. Again, no. Scruffy was staying on the right side and so was Lil. Now I have to worry about her peeing on the sidewalk and getting a citation from the management company. She finally stops to do her thang and Scruffy keeps walking. When he notices we have stopped, Scruffy turns and says goodbye and I wrap the leash around my hand, plant my feet and brace myself. Predictably, Lil tries to sprint after him. Not this time! My prep work and doggy mom instinct pay off aka I’m not being dragged down the street on my back while Lil sprints after Scruffy.

The look I get when I finally get her leash
off, because she is waiting for a cookie.

A few days later, Lil and I see Scruffy outside having a cigarette and Scruffy, clearly thinking he’s still Lil’s cuddle buddy, says hi to us. But, this time Lil is appalled. She looks at me like, “Mom, why is .. whoever the fuck that is talking to us? Do you know him?” Of course now I’m like fucking great, Lil’s not having it and he’s gonna try and pet her and she’s gonna flip out. And it’s gonna be confusing for him, traumatizing for Lil and embarrassing for me. So I say hi while half sprinting into the building. And of course, because my life is never simple, he puts out his cigarette and follows us in.  Now Lil’s doing the “walk quick and look back to see if the sketchy dude is still following you” thing that I didn’t realize dogs knew. We get in the elevator and he follows. Sick. Now we’re in an enclosed space and since our psycho dog is SOMEHOW irresistibly adorable, Scruffy is about to go in for the top-of-the-head pet. Her least favorite. He goes for it and she literally LEAPS backwards into me and I almost fall. Then the creepy elevator voice says “third floor” and I’m like “Sorry, I don’t know what her deal is…” as I get dragged down the hall by a thoroughly freaked out dog.

Best part of this? She gets into the apartment, makes an immediate decision and literally SPRINTS (I’m putting that in caps cuz this dog can run) into the other room and jumps on the couch so it tips backwards and SPRINTS back to me and then goes back to the couch. 8 times. Then grabs her leash in her mouth, has a fit of jumping and wiggling like she just fell onto a bed of mouse traps, (just picture it. Yes, she looked like that.) 
And she then goes back to sprinting.

Luckily, Tom was around for NONE of this so only I had to deal with craziness. Typical.

-A

p.s. next time this happens I’ll try and film it so you really understand the crazy in action. Also if anyone knows of markers for dissociative identity disorder in dogs, let me know.