Anonymous Communist

Basie oversees the eviction of squatters.

When you don’t have anything remotely interesting to write about, just post a picture of your dog.

After putting The Boy on the bus this morning, I spent 10 minutes chasing Basie across streets and through half the yards in the neighborhood. Yeah, I know… he’s just a pup, and he’ll eventually get things figured out. But right now, his bad moments far outnumber his good.

It just occurred to me that my experiences raising puppies somewhat mirrors those of raising my kids when they were babies.

Miles had his naughty moments to be sure, but in teaching him basic obedience tricks (sit, come, lay/lie down, etc.), he got them immediately. And he wanted nothing more than to do whatever it was you told him to do, even as a pup. The Girl then came along a couple of years after Miles.

Working nights, it was logical that I take the early morning feeding shifts. She was a whiz with those; I could have her up, changed, fed, belched, changed again and back down within 30 minutes or your pizza’s free.

When The Boy came along a few years later, he was virtually the polar opposite of The Girl.

He would fight that bottle so much that some nights it would take two hours or longer just to get him fed. Eventually, he refused the nighttime bottle altogether. Dude just preferred the boob. Can’t say that I blame him. Today, he’s a sweet, charming little boy. But back then, I was ready to sell his monkey ass to the circus.

So I’m sure in a couple of years, I’ll look back and wonder why I got so worked up about Basie’s puppy hijinks. But until then…

Full disclosure: I am a small-dog bigot. I loathe little wussy dogs. Dogs should not have long, flowing locks, nor should they be festooned with bows. They also should not have to suffer the indignity of the shaved ass. If you’re going to get a dog, get a Dog. Otherwise, just get a cat.

There, I said it. *cleansing breath*

This year’s winner of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show is Uno, a beagle. That’s a perfectly acceptable breed of canine, one that can actually earn its keep by doing useful stuff like tracking game or sniffing out dead people. Plus, the dog’s name is Uno, which reminds me of back in the day, when we used to make fun of one kid in the neighborhood who had one testicle by calling him Uno. Good times.

In other Man Dog news, Basie went to the vet Monday. He has doubled his weight (he’s 15 pounds now) in the three weeks since he joined our family. Even the vet seemed mildly surprised. Basie doesn’t really eat that much. He’s more of a grazer than a devourer. We’re still on our first bag of Puppy Chow. Maybe it’s the rabbit poop and dead birds he’s filling up on.

Here’s another picture, this time of him gunning for the camera strap:

No, dear reader(s), I’m not dead… I only feel like it.

I didn’t expect that trying to house-train a furry brown tornado would mean me going 10 days between posts. But keeping him from whizzing on the carpet and eating the couch while taking care of the domestic duties is leaving very little time for this webbed log. Or sleeping.

But I’m starting to unclench the tiniest little bit, so maybe I can start going fewer than 10 days between entries. Though I have nothing specific to write about, I can use this post as an excuse to post another dog picture:

BASIE: Oh, man… this dog is cute and all, but he’s killing me. With me working nights and then having to get up to get the kids off to school AND taking a whining puppy out to pee 47 times a night, I am a walking zombie. And during my nights off, I get terribly anxious about his sleeping patterns and how they affect mine. Basically, I’m no fun to be around right now. It’s only been the past few days that I’ve started to feel a little less anxious, and that’s probably because instead of sticking him back in his crate at 2 a.m. I just stick him in bed with me. It’s all about preserving sanity, baby.

He’s starting to learn basic commands, too. First was “come,” which he’s doing pretty OK on. Now we’re working on “sit.” Mrs. Communist is doing an excellent job teaching him that stuff. I just watch and do what she does.

WEATHER: Snow is wonderful while it’s falling, and it’s also great when it causes a snow day. But I’m quite ready for it to be gone now. But a foot of snow takes a while to melt, even in 45-degree weather. And Basie’s having a hard time taking a dump in the snow:

Those of you who think west-side neighborhoods get preferential treatment from the snowplows would be wrong. City crews didn’t make it out our way, and thanks to the freaky early February thunderstorm that dumped like an inch of sleety rain, the streets in my neighborhood are shin deep in the dirty gray slop. The storm sewers are blocked because of the snow, so what is melting isn’t going anywhere. Where the slop has melted, there is an ankle-deep puddle of frigid water. I can’t wait for that to freeze. (UPDATE 10:32 a.m. Feb. 4: Snowplows are plying my streets as I type this. Awesome.)

SUPER BOWL: I didn’t watch it. It looks like I missed a hell of a game. My brother got me “Big Brain Academy: Wii Degree” for my birthday, so Mrs. C and the kids and I played that instead. If you have a Wii, I highly recommend picking up this title. It’s easy enough for kids to get involved but also challenging enough for adults to enjoy, too.

We got so engrossed with “BBA” that I totally forgot about the Super Bowl, which I can’t bear to watch anymore anyway. It wasn’t until after I let Basie out about 1 a.m. that I turned on “SportsCenter” expecting the anchors to be fellating Tom Brady. What a surprise to see Eli Manning not screwing it up. And here I thought all he wanted to do was play squash.

Continuing the fine tradition of dog naming established more than a decade ago, I’ve settled on a name for the formerly unnamed brown poochie.

Basie.

My first junior year in college, I lived in a house with four other dudes (including notable A.C. commenters Eric and Steve). The girlfriend of one of the dudes got him a dog for his birthday, and all of us, heavy into jazz at the time, agreed on calling this dog Mingus.

Forward a few years later, Mrs. Communist gets me a dog for my 24th birthday, and she suggests Miles for a name. Brilliant, I thought (and to this day, I still say it’s the best dog name ever).

Which brings us to today. I had jokingly considered naming him Woo, because he’s a mad carpet pisser. Eventually I settled on two names but was having difficulty deciding. My other choice was Maxwell, if for no other reason than this dog’s dad apparently macks well. I picked Basie, though, as a nod to the above tradition and because it’s a little non-traditional at the same time.

So here’s to you, Basie. *raises coffee mug* Please stop pissing on the carpet.

PROGRAMMING NOTE: You may have noticed that I’ve gone four days between posts. This trend likely will continue until I can feel comfortable not watching Basie like a hawk every second he’s awake. I hope to have a Lebowski Experience post up soon. My schedule is bizarre enough as it is, but trying to housetrain a puppy on top of that leaves very little time for things not related to cleaning up piss or doing laundry or paying attention to children.

Regular readers of this webbed log may have noticed that there is an addition to the Anonymous Communist family. If you haven’t, go ahead and click the link; it’s totally worth it.

Now that we’re up to speed… Awwwwwwwww… isn’t he cute? He joined our family thanks to a brilliant yet devious plot by Mrs. Communist.

Several times this past week up to Friday afternoon, Mrs. C complained of not feeling well. That night, my extended family gathered at a local dining establishment to celebrate my brother’s 40th birthday. Once everyone settled in, Mrs. C told everyone that she had an announcement, saying “We will be having a new member of the family, and here’s his 6-week picture” as she handed me a card with a local doctors group letterhead.

I just sat there for a second, looking at the card and thinking, “Six weeks? And she’s just now getting sick?” I sheepishly glanced back at her, and seeing her smiling I opened the card to see a picture of this powerfully adorable puppy. It took a few seconds for me to figure out what was going on.

Pretty much everyone at the table said, “You should have seen the look on your face.” Apparently, she had been planning this all week. My parents were in on the con as well as her parents and co-workers.

I had to congratulate her on the great job she did selling it. Mrs. C has always had a flair for the dramatic.

The little fella is about 6 weeks old and tips the scales at 7.5 pounds. As far as his ethnic heritage goes, it is my understanding that his mom is a pedigreed Siberian husky. Totally obvious, right? Apparently, she got out one night, and, well… how are you going to keep her on the farm once she’s seen Karl Hungus? I’m guessing Dad is a chocolate Lab of some sort with seriously dominant genes. Except for the eyes, of course. His left eye is more of a mottled blue-brown than the piercing blue of his right.

The kids, of course, love him like a S.O.B. and have to be reminded occasionally that they don’t need to have their hands on him at all times. I barely got any sleep Friday night/Saturday morning, his first night in his new home. It was the combination of the excitement (and trepidation) that comes with a new puppy and dragging my ass out of my extremely warm bed every couple of hours to go into the extremely cold outdoors so he could fertilize the lawn.

It’s going to take a lot of work to train him, but the rewards of having a well-mannered dog are so worth it. And with his Dogfather watching over him, the as-of-yet unnamed brown poochie will be a dandy.