Lucy Land I agreed to watch my sister’s dog for the weekend. That feels worthy of writing a live diary. Thursday Could Lucy be the sweetest creature on this planet? Possibly. She is, essentially, a 9-pound ball of love....
Lucy Land
I agreed to watch my sister’s dog for the weekend.
That feels worthy of writing a live diary.
Thursday
Could Lucy be the sweetest creature on this planet? Possibly. She is, essentially, a 9-pound ball of love. Bouncing around with turbo-powered joy. Her playfulness dial cranked up to the max.
As we speak, she’s literally squealing with excitement to be here. I’m talking actual squeals. This fuzzy weirdo doesn’t even mind when I grab a steak bone out of her mouth. What kind of dog is cool with that? She just follows me around (practically skipping) like:
“What’s our next adventure, super cool human???”
Her current status?
Running from room to room as if she won the lottery. Just bolting in, spinning around in a circle, and then racing to the next room.
(She’s been doing this for the last 15 minutes)
Not exactly sure what this place represents to her. She naps like a normal dog everywhere else. Sleeps through the night at home. But the second she walks through this door…
It’s spring break ’97. Daytona Beach style.
I don’t think animals know about frat parties. But, man, this sure does feel like she’s planning on a weekend-long rager.
Nah.
Probably just my imagination.
Thursday afternoon
Since we last spoke, I ordered a venti cold brew from Starbucks.
(A lot of caffeine for someone who doesn’t drink coffee)
Well, it’s doing nothing.
Lucy is getting the better of me.
Picture a sloth. Then imagine it with a hangover. Now shoot it with a tranquilizer gun.
That’s me.
Would continue writing but Lucy is chewing on my feet.
(This is apparently the greatest game in the history of Daytona Beach)
My watch says today is still Thursday.
That can’t be right.
Just googled, “Does Starbucks have a beverage stronger than cold brew?”
Maybe my watch is broken.
Friday
There’s a question on my mind this morning…
Do all living creatures require sleep?
My life experience says yes. But I’m wondering if there are exceptions…
She stared through the glass door all night long. A very happy predator. Looking into total darkness.
Desperate for a return to Disneyland.
(Also known as the backyard)
All night long.
Gazing out. Hoping for any possible sighting of a bird or squirrel. Impossible since all of them were SLEEPING LIKE NORMAL CREATURES. But no amount of darkness would squash her enthusiasm. Tail wags for hours. Little growls of excitement. Like a miniature Corvette revving up.
Maybe the first all-nighter in the history of canines.
A pair of lightning-quick power naps and that’s it.
Eagerly waiting for sunrise.
For the Disneyland gates to open once again.
You’re probably wondering something. And it’s a fair question. Why didn’t I just escape to the bedroom? Oh, I tried. But she grabbed her mini tennis ball and stood right in the doorway. Like a tiny, furry linebacker. Tail wagging. Eyes dancing with excitement. Rolling over with such joy that I had no choice but to play with her.
Spoiler alert:
Sleeping on couches = not awesome.
Unsure what time it is now.
Maybe early afternoon.
Never mind.
It’s 8:30 AM.
Planning to buy another venti cold brew. But might as well chug a nice, tall glass of air. No longer just punch drunk. This is something new. Feels like an acid trip. What does LSD stand for, anyway? And, since we’re on the subject, why the hell do we say venti? Was there a secret meeting where the powers-that-be decided to pretend it isn’t strange? A joke on the general population. Who no longer walk up there and order a large coffee. Nope. We accept the lunacy. While they laugh at the rest of us. The sheep who continue dancing this strange venti dance.
(It appears that my sleep deprivation has caused some mood swings)
My mind has twisted like a food court pretzel.
Anyway, time to head back out there. I’m being summoned. To throw a mini nerf football from one end of the yard to the other. She’ll chase it around endlessly like a crackhead who spotted a bag of white powder. I’ll keep throwing. Sipping my venti cold brew. Drifting slowly into insanity.
Friday night
Lucy is currently outside chasing a moth.
(She’s been doing this for over 30 minutes now)
Not sure how to articulate her excitement level for this moth.
But I’ll try…
Imagine a big game hunter who walks outside and sees a dinosaur.
Saturday
Time to question some life decisions.
Namely, how did I agree to this? What on earth was I thinking?
Trying to be a good brother, I guess. But, really, what’s wrong with being an average brother? Or even a subpar one? Life would still go on. People (including me) would still get to sleep at night. Sure, maybe I won’t be the Michael Jordan of siblings. But it’s time to lower some goals. Maybe just shoot for “non-embarrassment” in the brother rankings.
So, how did last night go? Gather around as I share my brilliant strategy.
Let’s call it a master plan:
Step 1 – Run Lucy around for hours.
Step 2 – Get her exhausted.
Step 3 – Pick her up very gently and put her in a dark room to fall asleep.
Step 4 – Tiptoe away en route to a night of rejuvenating slumber.
The plan was more than just smart. It was brilliant.
(In theory, that is)
In reality? This dog knows how to knock on doors. No clue how that’s possible since she has no hands. I’m guessing she used her face. And rammed over and over again. Luckily, I’m a rock. The one who withstood that avalanche of pressure. But then she discovered the doorstop. Playing that spring like an electric guitar all night long.
(She is, apparently, the Eddie Van Halen of doorstop musicians)
Yada yada yada, I finally let her out of prison. Also known as the comfortable room equipped with a plush dog bed.
The door opened. That little criminal stumbled to me ACTING like she slept all night. As if I hadn’t just listened to hours of her concert. Come on, man. I HEARD YOU. As soon as she gets around me, she prances away with a twinkle in her eyes. No longer playing the role of normal animal who sleeps through the night. Free once again. To hunt birds and squirrels with the energy of Britney Spears in an Instagram video.
Merryl Streep would have gasped at this dog’s performance.
And then would have handed her an Oscar.
Saying, “You deserve this more than I do.”
(On another note, I’m thinking about skipping cold brew today and just moving on to heroin)
Lucy is currently digging a giant hole to China.
She’s now rolling around with glee in said China hole.
It’s a full-on party up in here.
I think my hallucination stage has begun.
Saturday middle of the night
Inquiring minds want to know:
What happened post-China hole?
She storms in like it’s the Battle of Gettysburg. Spotting something even more exciting than a hole. It’s her gross, year-old blue and purple mini tennis ball. Also known as the greatest toy ever made.
We played with this ball until I developed carpal tunnel syndrome.
Surgery is likely needed.
Then I tried to put her in jail/the very comfortable room.
Not sure if her ensuing sounds would be better described as:
A) Soap opera actress, or
B) Prisoner of war.
But, yes, we are again on the couch. It is deep into the night. She discovered a genius idea that was, of course, much smarter than mine…
She’s sitting on me so I can’t move.
Not sure what day this is.
Time is a foreign concept that no longer applies.
I float through the atmosphere of another dimension.
Seeing nothing but visions of doorstops and mini tennis balls floating through the sky.
Sunday
No idea why I thought it was wise to give her a bath this morning.
After all, rock stars don’t take baths.
When I finally intercepted her light-speed escape, I tried to towel her off.
That towel? It’s now the best toy in the history of modern society.
(Overtaking the old blue and purple tennis ball)
Sunday night
Staring into space.
Into the abyss.
Trying to locate the strength.
This is the situation when you party all day and rage all night. The current reality for young Lucy at this point. She has finally, against all odds, hit the wall.
Victory is mine.
I finally get to witness her falling asleep.
(Editor’s note: It turned out that I was not the hero of this tale. My sister arrived just in time to rescue Lucy from defeat)
Where does that leave me, you ask?
Well, it’s time for this guy to hibernate for the next 10 hours or so.
Monday very early morning
Can’t sleep.
I miss the dog.
