Pictured: Not me, not my dogs
If you bother to read profiles, you would have read that mine says "Harassed father to six psychotic dogs, and one snotty cat."
Make that seven dogs.
I've always wanted a Siberian Husky but, given the longevity of dogs, I've had to wait years for vacancies in my kennel. But Huskies just weren't available whenever a beloved member of my little pack flew off to Dog Heaven. True, just months ago I lost three new puppies to parvo, but they were quickly replaced by two Chows. Two stubborn, rambunctious brothers who have been my constant companions in the study room where I work, hammer out this blog, and surf for porn. I have spent more quality time with these two than any other dog I've ever owned; not just because I love them (oh, puh-leeeze), but more because I wanted to ensure I would not lose any more battles with parvo. So for the past two months they've been living in a dog crib behind me, snoring like pigs when they sleep, as I peck away at this keyboard.
There they will remain, quarantined from the rest of my mutts until I'm convinced they're in the safe zone. I have never mopped up and sprayed odor-concealer and picked up so much poo in my life. I must admit this is the first time I have ever taken this much of a hands-on approach to dog care, and fulfilled the "harassed father" moniker in my bio. Normally, once they're housebroken and more importantly, know who's boss, my dogs get relegated to the care of their yaya - my fortunately-doting maid - and only see me for the occasional hugs, playtime, and trips to the vet.
My children, if ever I have any, will most likely meet the same fate.
Crate training is not the same as housebreaking, though. While the Chows have made great progress in terms of obedience and potty times, they still have little "accidents" whenever I let them have a trial run of the house. So it's always back to the crate until they learn that pee-pee and poo-poo are a no-no in the housey.
All three of us are lucky that I got them at the start of an extended work hiatus. I don't acquire any new pets during toxic periods at work because one needs to devote sufficient quality time for bonding and training. It is imperative that new members of my canine clan learn to recognize me as the alpha dog, and that in our pack, my word is law.
Anyhow, I'm on the cusp of the last onslaught of work for the year. Looking at my project list, we'd be lucky to finish all productions by first week December. So as I was bracing for this last-quarter storm, I get a call from a friend:
"You like dogs, right?"
"Would you like a Siberian Husky?"
She might as well have asked me if I wanted a Lamborghini.
My friends know me a little too well, sometimes. Of the seven dogs and one cat in my current menagerie, half are adoptees entrusted to me by friends for sanctuary. The reasons cited range from "I can't keep the poor thing any more because my kid developed allergies to the fur." to "They won't let me keep pets at the new condo I'm moving to, eh." And all entreaties end with "I know naman you'll take good care of him."
I'm the fucking Angelina Jolie of dogs.
So now I have a new mouth to feed. Thank God none of them ever need to go to college. And good for this Sibe, I've always hankered for one of his kind (you couldn't get me to adopt a Rottweiler, a chihuahua, or a pit bull for love or money.) Sibes are a very friendly, clean, and most importantly, intelligent breed.
Just one catch at the moment, though. Sibes have a strong prey instinct, and must be introduced to small animals like cats at an early age. This Sibe is already a strapping one-year old, and the moment he and the cat locked eyes it was hate at first sight. All the dogs that have ever passed through this house have managed to accept my furry feline as a meowing member of the pack. For his sake, I hope it's not too late for him and this Husky to reach a détente.
Otherwise, I might end up with seven dogs. And a late, lamented Persian.