The puppies and I kept each other company tonight.
We are the faithful partners of Very Important People.
My husband is an MSIV and in LA for ER interviews.
Their People are CEOs and City Council Member servants, so they had to go to the State of the City Address from the Mayor.
So before I went to work and made sure that food was properly placed on people's plates and that there was enough sour cream in the fridge, I stopped by the puppies house to feed them and take them on a short walk. Then, when I got off work early I called their People to ask if the puppies were still at home alone because they both looked so sad when I left earlier, and I thought I could maybe go keep them company if they were lonely. The Important People were very glad that I could do that because it would make the puppies happy--and I was happy because why should we have to be alone when we can be together?
And even though they would have loved my eau de parfum of burgers and fries, even they would have hated it after they realized I was not actually a plate of food. So, I stopped at home and put my PJs on. Despite the delay of running into a friend on the way out of work and chatting for a while, plus the shower, they were still alone when I got there.
Which is a really long and boring way to get to the good part: Yaz is an incredibly jealous and manipulative little bitch.
After the Festival of the Joyful Arrival Ceremony, I settled down on the couch with Entertainment Weekly and invited them to both join me. Stan was delighted and jumped right up, then sat with lots of dignity--nose in the air with pride! Meanwhile, Yaz stood at a distance, eyeing us. Then she went to get a drink of water. After considering our situation for a while longer she went to the door and rang the Yaz Has to Pee bells. Given that my arrival usually does equate with a trip to the Doggie Bathroom outside, I figured I'd get up and open the door, just to see if she went outside. They both did, but neither went down the stairs, and when I went back inside and left the door open they followed me.
Then Yaz jumped on the couch and sat next to where I had been sitting. Stan just stared at us and then went to get his Rubber Caged Tennis Ball so he could sit at our feet and chew it.
Still wanting at least Some Attention, Stan played the Stare At the Ball Until it Moves game with me.
Yaz actually lifted her left paw and put it over my throwing arm so that I would stop moving so much.
I told Stan we weren't allowed to play anymore, "Yaz said so," but he didn't get it, so I had to use my other arm and the extension of the magazine length to roll the ball around for him.
He's a very playful dog. We kept this up--me reading the magazine and using it as a ball swatter, Yaz stretched out and resting her head on me to ensure her position as Chief Recipient of Attention--until Yaz decided to try ringing the bells again.
Sleepy, I gave in after playing with Stan for a while and hoping enough time had passed to have tricked Yaz into thinking it was my idea to let them walk me home. I brought them in (just for a minute! so I could wash my hands!) (we're not even allowed to have dog visitors--ever. Landlord rules.) and quickly assessed the non-dog-proofed-ness of our digs. This apartment is really not meant for guests, and especially not for dogs or infants. Or non-adults of any sort, really.
They were thrilled though. Very excited to check things out, but frustrated that I limited them to the length of their leashes from the leg of the kitchen table. Despite Yaz's company, Stan was a little skittish, and I was lucky and they didn't bark or whine.
I really want them to come over for a slumber party, but it's too stressful. Stan doesn't like change, Yaz would get lonely without him and I'd probably have to take her home in the middle of the night--like when one of the little girls at a sleepover can't sleep and starts to cry. Plus I have to whisper because I'm afraid the neighbors will know I'm talking to dogs.
I drove them back and Stan's competing interests nearly drove me mad--he seems to believe there is a tennis ball somewhere in the car and wants to dig to it but also wants to look out the window and feel the wind blowing through his beard and eyelashes.
At home, there was the Water on the Sidewalk evidence that I had just taken them out (Stan sometimes doesn't make it to the grass to pee, so then we have to hose the walkway down) and the car was in the driveway. They didn't believe me until they went inside, but their People were home.
I drove myself home while I was still feeling safe in the dark on the Street Where the Homicide Happened Last Weekend.