I came home and found my copy of Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man strewn about the apartment in about fifty different pieces.
I then looked at the couch and saw what Harley-Scalia thought of my adverse possession outline:
I told Harley exactly what I thought of him. Revolutionary Road style. He’s sulking in the bedroom right now. We’ll make up in a second, but I want to let him stew for a bit.
My apartment building is buzzing about the angry notes taped on all of the building’s exits. Apparently someone’s dog (not mine!) peed in front of our building. And yes, the alleged pee puddle has a note taped to it as well:
I say “alleged” pee puddle because it has been there for two days now without drying. I think someone poured out some hooch or something…
One of my neighbors is definitely scared of Harley – I’m leaving my apartment to take Harley on a walk and I hear a gasp from the end of the hallway:
Neighbor-lady: “He chained? I aint walking by no big dog…”
Me: “Yes. He’s leashed. He’s really friendly too…”
Neighbor-lady: “He looks like he RIPS PEOPLE’S HEADS OFF!”
Me: “Uh… well, my head is still here!”
Later on we had a visit by a maintenance man. I held Harley’s collar and let him into the apartment.
Maintenance man: “Oh, don’t worry. I have three Anatolian mastiffs at home. They weigh twice his size. Heyah!”
I’m surprised by how many people own mastiffs, but I guess there’s not an occasion for people to mention that to a non-mastiff owner.
Harley and I passed the neighborhood elementary school on a walk this morning and a third grader insisted that Harley was a Bull-mastiff because “his cousin’s dog looks just like that.” The runt is a total 0L and he doesn’t even know it! As we walked away he screamed “AND HE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU TOO!”
Well…gee…watch it kid. Don’t think I won’t give Michael Jackson the address of the playground…
…I was under the delusion that today would be more productive than it was. I spent the morning “running errands.”
I had to get two important things:
The spray should work because it tastes god-awful. How do I know? Well, I bought a covered push-to-open trash can so Harley-Scalia wouldn’t pilfer the garbage during the day. I sprayed some of the bitter-spray on the can and of course I FORGOT about the spray. I touched the mace-covered “open” button for the trash can…and…A few minutes later I rubbed my mouth and began five minutes of…um… French.1
Hopefully it’s awful enough to stop a mastiff…
Harley-Scalia has also discovered how to open the toilet. If I don’t close the bathroom door then he’s guaranteed to drink out of the tiolet.
Harley thinks I don’t know about this. I was in my bedroom when I heard these HUGE gulps coming from the bathroom.
Harley heard me get up and scurried into the kitchen. He was sitting next to his dog bowl, looking at me like “What? I was SO here the whole time!”
Yeah. Huh-huh. Right.
I only got through one outline today, which was underwhelming. I had such grand plans to get two outlines done and maybe attempt to move some more stuff over…but no. Fail. One outline was all that I finished. I went to fetch more soda and found Harley inspecting my books:
I have a property practice exam at 9am tomorrow, and a Criminal Law review session shortly after that. Staying away from school until my finals? Hah. Nonsense.
More bitchy neighbor notes after the jump:
Today was the last official day of school. There are still review sessions and group practice exams, but no more formal classes.
My classmates had a “glad you’re still alive!” card for me1 and a big bone for Harley-Scalia:
The best part about the card was what one of the international students wrote:
“I thought you among the smartest men I’ve ever met, but now the impression is overwritten…get better soon!”
Hilarity.
It’s almost 8pm and should finish my civil procedure outline … but instead I’m going to bed.
Exam studying starts in earnest tomorrow…
1 AND a vanilla-scented candle, since Harley-Scalia farts something vicious… you rock Cristina!
Harley and I started the day with a long walk, and then I skipped off to work.
I left work around 3 and then did the Ikea/Wal-Mart tour. My credit card hurts.
Tomorrow the Ikea movers are going to bring my new kitschy couch.
Tonight I get to assemble my futon:
Harley was all, “oh joy, you bought me a dog bed! About time we get some furniture up in here.” He jumps on the futon pad and starts scratching it.
I shot him the bitch-please look and he got off of the pad. Harley’s now working on a bone beside the futon.
I wonder how long it is going to take to assemble…
I have to wipe Harley’s mouth immediately after he drinks because otherwise…
Yesterday was a bit of an adventure.
After Corporations, I noticed that I had a voicemail – it was from my new landlord. He said that my credit and criminal records came back clean, and I should come down and sign the lease.
I signed the lease after Crimlaw, and then called Harley’s foster parents.1
Yes. The name of the town was Pease. There was also a “Rum River” and a town called “Wellthen.” This reminded me of the town names from the Bemidji trip…
Pease is a little country.
Okay, more than a little country. Think horses, cows, dirt roads, massive trucks, pro-life billboards, antique shops, churches that look like sheds, and holes-in-shirts.
And of course I took the wrong dirt road, but two boys got off their horses (I shit you not) and pointed me in the right direction.
There were large dogs (and horses) everywhere. Some dogs caged, some were chained to posts, and others roamed around freely. I got out of the car and had two pit bulls inspect me. Harley was tied in front of the house.
After greeting the two bulls, I saw a little boy getting on a dirt bike. “You guys have a lot of dogs…” I said. “Yep,” he said. “Susan’s inside.”
Susan opened the door as I walked up the house stairs. She unchained Harley and took him inside. There were kennels stacked everywhere inside the house. There was also a bored looking pit bull, and several more excitable pit bulls in cages. Susan’s (husband?) was on the couch watching “What happens in Vegas” and the un-caged pit bull sat at his feet.
After making awkward small talk with the husband, I look over and see Susan nonchalantly pulling out a BIG HONKING needle. She told the husband to hold Harley, and then stabbed Harley’s coat with the needle. “This is his whatsit shot.”
Susan then recited a long list of Harley’s recent shots and treatments – “if he starts pooping out worms that’s perfectly normal. It’s really good actually.”
After twenty minutes I was speeding back down the dirt roads with Harley in the back seat.2
I then drove fifty miles West and visited Phillip in St. Cloud. He introduced me to his cats, housemate, and her rabbits. His housemate owns two rabbits and spins yarn out of their hair, which is just about the most random, and coolest thing ever.
We stopped in Monticello where Harley got another potty break and a chicken nugget. Once we got back to civilization Minneapolis, I walked Harley around Dinkytown, picked up a few things from the Gamma house and then drove back to my new apartment.
I planned on sleeping on a self-inflating travel bed that my mother bought for me last summer. But, of course my “convenient self-inflating bed” was not so convenient. The pump requires two huge batteries, not included.
So I spent my first night on an area rug with Harley sleeping nearby.
The neighborhood is gorgeous and has an odd mix if old mansions, historic churches, and apartment buildings.
Harley is really calm, so I didn’t have to worry about him lunging at people.
He does however sort of run into me when I’m walking him, like, “Oh, sorry, I want to go to the other side of the sidewalk and I forgot you were there.”
I also need to work on fattening him up:
This means that reinforcing good behavior with treats is completely acceptable for at least the first month.
Although I’m still getting used to the drool (mostly after he drinks water), I think Harley was a good pick.
1 I decided not to get Tula (the pit bull) because I felt that mom’s reaction (OH MY GOD AHH!) was indicative of the general-animus towards pits, and I wasn’t prepared to spend the next 10 years fighting that stereotype.
2 One neat thing that Susan gave me was a dog-seatbelt for the car.
Barring any shenanigans, I move out this Friday.
This makes me so happy I feel like hopping around my room screaming “YES WE CAN” like Kyle’s dad.
I’ve been racking up extra hours (at work and outlining) so I can afford to take the weekend off for the move. The move shouldn’t be too bad because I don’t own any of the furniture in my fraternity room…
…which means a trip to Ikea.
The apartment is really out of my hands at the moment – the landlord is doing the obligatory criminal and credit check. And, again, barring any shenanigans (ie someone stole my identity and ruined my credit) things should be fine.
Today’s task was getting serious about finding a dog. I filled out the applications and did the follow-ups… and there are two finalists at the moment:
Tula
Harley
Tula is a pitbull. Harley is a mastiff.
There are pros and cons for each dog.
Tula pros:
Tula cons:
Harley pros:
Harley cons:
I know what I’m getting with Tula, whereas with Harley…hm. While I don’t think it would be a disaster per se, Harley is definitely more of a wild card. Oh what ever shall I do?
Tula or Harley?
