Annoying Habits of Roommates Who Don't Pay Rent

With what you’ve read here you’d think there was only one.  Only one four legged member of our family. But in reality, there are two such creatures that live with us rent-free here in the Oyster Bed Bridge.  While my beautiful beastly boy, Snickers, occupies the largest chamber of my heart, there is a small space (tiny, tiny, tiny space) reserved for the her-dog of the house…our very own she-devil…the one and ONLY…Gidget Cameron.  Truth be told, I’m sure she’d prefer Gidget Donnelly, but the women in this house have not yet given up their maiden names so Gidget Cameron she will remain until such time as I say so. 

Now making her Musings & Meandering debut, the one and only GIDGET CAMERON!  (insert musical fanfare flourish here):

I know, you’re looking at that picture and thinking to yourself  “She’s cute!  Look at those eyes!  That expression!  She’s so fashionable with her winter parka!  How can you not stand the very cuteness of such cute-a-tude?!?!!”  It’s easier than you’d think, believe you me.

Gidget came to our family on a bit of a whim.  Note to self, one should never give in to those whims, because one moment of weakness could easily garner you 4 (or more) years saying “I’m sorry, she’s just a little cranky, it’s not you, really, it’s her, it’s just the way she is.”

April 4^th, 2005 was a bad day for me.  I’m not kidding.  I was having a very low tide kind of day.  The kind when you think to yourself, I really need to do something DIFFERENT with my life.  Lots of people would think about taking up a new hobby or perhaps exploring a different career or even going on vacation somewhere new and exotic.  Not me.  I took a walk and sauntered right past the pet store on 4^th in Kitsilano.  Thinking Snickers could use a treat I wandered in and there she was.  A 6-month old Gidget, all black and tan and cute as a bug, with a sweet disposition who just wanted to be cuddled and held and carried around like a baby.

I was done-in for.  She had me at the first wag of her little tiny (tiny, tiny) tail.  A small fortune later (I know the MADNESS!  I actually PAID for this creature who would come to rule my household like a queen with an iron fist) and she was mine. 

I do believe the name the pet store had given her was Wanda or Wendy or something like that.  Who the hell gives real people names to dogs?  And why Wanda or Wendy?  Why not Tanya (you know at least a small reference to her colour)?  I just don’t get it.  Anyway, before I even got her home (on the 4^th Street bus no less) she was christened Gidget.  Because, simply put, she’s a midget and it just seemed to fit her personality.  Gidget, the Midget.  Apologies to any little people that may read this website - no disrespect was intended.

She was too young to leave at home all day long, so four days a week she’d jump into her duffle bag (not a real duffle bag – a dog carrier duffle bag) and join me on the number 6 bus to go to work.  I’m sure during those 10 hours we were out each day were pure, unadulterated bliss for Snickers who, I think still to this day, resents the intrusion on his life that this little dog has wrought.  She quickly became the office mascot who would hang out in my office all day, unless of course there was a piece of linoleum she could pee on or a treat to be given over in Andrea’s office.

Our early days were easy days.  These were the days when she was all sweetness and sugar-toffee loving.  These were the days before the  disease would take hold of her and swing her around like a cat by the tail.  These were the days before she met my future husband, but the love of HER life, Dwayne Donnelly.

We moved to Jasper and became acquainted with the one whose affections we compete for, the man of our dreams, he who lights up our lives.  She would (and still does) sit for HOURS on his lap, allowing him to stroke her under the chin.  Very soon after we started dating, I figured he was a keeper because not only had Snickers not shied away from him as he had done with every OTHER man I had ever introduced him to, but The Gidge (as Dwayne calls her), quickly decided that he was the man for her.  How could I not keep him around?

Even in those days, Gidget was still a sweet little nuthin’ of a puppy.  I was worried that Rocky Mountain winters might be too cold for one who only stands 4-inches off the ground, but Gidget proved to be an intrepid cold-weather canine.  She’d walk for hours and hours and hours through snow and ice, stopping only to have the snowballs removed from her armpits.  She dug the mountains, almost as much as she dug her Dwayne-man.

Her diagnosis didn’t come until last year, when she turned 4.  We were at the Veterinary Hospital at the University of PEI where both dogs were getting the most thorough physical they (or I) have ever had.  As part of the examination I asked the resident to check Gidget’s eyes.  I thought she might have cataracts or something starting as she’d recently started barking uncontrollably at unfamiliar objects.   The residents at the Vet Hospital did a complete work-up, checking every nook & cranny on the dogs and taking a comprehensive view through the eye-checker at Miss Gidget’s corneas.  They found nothing. 

Being thoroughly keen and oh-so-into-the-cuteness-that-is-Gidget, the residents thought to write up Gidge’s symptoms under the guise that there wasn’t anything physically causing the barking…her eyesight was perfectly fine.  They were concerned that perhaps there was either an environmental or behavioral issue causing this oh-so-annoying hobby.  They submitted their report to the Veterinarian Doctors that oversee their residency program.  A few emails and a couple of phone calls to clarify details later and we had the diagnosis.  I was very excited to learn what was causing The Gidge such distress as to cause her to bark uncontrollably for hours on end.  I called the hospital back and got our resident on the phone.

The diagnosis:  “Adult On-set Crankiness”.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the genesis of her disease – she’s a bitch.  In. Every. Sense. Of.  The.  Word.  Seems it’s one of the less than endearing traits of Australian Silky Terriers.  The older they get, the less tolerant they become.  The less tolerant, the more vocal. 

Lately her laments have included such things as “THERE’S A FRIGGIN’ COYOTE SOMEWHERE WITHIN A 20-KM RADIUS OF OUR HOUSE – DON’T YOU HEAR HIM???”  and  “GIMME THAT BONIE, DAMN YOU!!”  and of course there’s the daily “STAY AWAY FROM MY DISH OR I’LL SINK MY DAGGERS INTO YOUR ANKLES YOU BIG BROWN DOG!”

But perhaps the thing she’s complained about the MOST lately is “WHY DO I NOT GET MY OWN SPOT ON THE BLOG?  I WANT MY MOMENT IN THE SUN!  I DEMAND THAT MY STORY BE TOLD!  WHY DO YOU PLAY FAVOURITES?  WHY IS THE BROWN DOG THE STAR OF THE SHOW?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?”

Well, now my little Gidge – you can SHUT-UP.  Please……….