Biscuit’s Philosophy of Life: Live Life, Bite a Skunk

If you’ve followed this blog, you’ll no doubt recall my post on how the favorite dog I’ve ever owned in my life – and I’ve owned a lot of them -- Chica, would get in the hot tub with us and, depending on how many Paloma margaritas I’d had, would speak to me in an English accent. Very proper was Chica. Chica had sense enough to know that there was a natural etiquette to the hot tub. It took me a year to teach my youngest boy, Wywy, that doing underwater summersaults in the hot tub was de classe. Hot tub time is a sacred civilized carve-out at the end of the day, to enjoy a good cigar and a beer or whiskey, and just relaxxxxx. Ah yeah. Those were the days.

That was pre-2011. Those were halcyon days indeed. Then Thanksgiving 2010 hit, and our house was robbed and not only were laptops and a guitar and Lulu’s jewelry taken, but so was our beloved Chica. It was heartbreaking in our family, particularly for my youngest boy Wywy and me who was closest to her. Incidentally, another dog was also taken but we didn’t like her so that was somewhat of a blessing. We put up signs around the neighborhood saying:

**** LOST DOG ****
YELLO LAB
“CHICA”
REWARD
[LARGE PIC OF CHICA HERE]
Then in small print:
“Chica may be accompanied by a boxer named Baulbazaur; you can keep it as part of the reward. We have no pic of it but you’ll know it when you see it.”

After six months with no word from Chica (or Baulbazaur thankfully), my boy Wywy’s persistent hounding for a new pup finally found purchase. I find it hard to deny him for any length of time. I spoil all my boys, but my baby gets special dispensations. So I instructed Lulu to get on it. Lulu found a yellow Lap puppy on the Internet for very cheap if only airfare could be wired to the owner. She of course wired the money – to Cameroon it turns out -- while I was out of town and, to nobody’s surprise except Lulu’s, no dog was forthcoming on the flight. “But the ad said it was a Pastor’s family!” she cried pitifully. I love Lulu so much. I married the last guileless girl in America, but needless to say she is no longer allowed to use the Internet when I’m out of town. I returned and scouted out a lively pup that Wywy picked out from a local litter. He named her Biscuit.

Biscuit, while also a yellow Lab, only resembles Chica in her appearance. She is constantly gobbling up things, regardless if they are food or not. Shoes, flowers, dirt, a dropped hot dog (occasionally even a blind pig finds a truffle). When we used to sit in the hot tub, Chica would enter carefully – using the steps like a Christian – and would assume her seat by her usual jet and sit quietly. Biscuit leaps, and I mean leaps high in the air, into the hot tub right into our laps. She’s clearly not afraid of water. Then she swims constantly in a tight circle, making sure to chomp at our fingers, bathing suits, the water, a jet; and when there’s nothing to bite, she bites the air. At first I thought she was so dumb she’d swim herself until she eventually drowned, but the good Lord or Satan or whoever spawned this pup put enough sense in her to step out of the hot tub to shake water on all of us and then go roll in the dirt so that she resembles a homeless dog, or a chocolate Lab, and then leaps back into the hot tub, creating a nuclear mushroom cloud of dispersed mud, and resumes her rounds. We’ve doubled our chlorine bill since Biscuit has entered our lives.

Here is Biscuit. She’s running toward me.

The reason she’s running toward me is because, we’ve found, Biscuit has an acute phobia of being alone, even for a second, and never gets more than three feet away from Wywy, or if he’s not to be found, anybody. Oh, we all have our deep-seated fears of abandonment. But Biscuit takes it to a new level.

Part of it is Wywy’s fault. He’s indulged her shamefully. She sleeps in his bed, he invites her along on every event of his life, and basically they are inseparable. Which is kinda cute. Except when Wywy must be away, like at school, and then Biscuit clings to Lulu and me, or the yardman, or the mailman, or anybody with a pulse. This pup loves to love. And I love to love her back, except when I have to work or would like to read quietly or even when I wish to “meet a man about a horse” in the bathroom. She sits at the door and whines, which makes me nervous and keeps my equine negotiations at bay. Sometimes I just give up and endure cramps later in the day. Thanks, Biscuit.

Part of this behavior, I’m sure, is because Biscuit is still a puppy. I realize that. But Chica was never like this. This pup has a zest for life like I’ve never seen. Everything she sees goes directly into her mouth without so much as a sniff to see if it’s edible/distasteful/poisonous. With twice as much ADD as even other Lab puppies, she chases everything that catches her gaze at the moment: squirrels, butterflies, a skunk. Yes, she got sprayed on her very first outing at the ranch, and got me sprayed as a consequence. We both soaked in a tub for hours. I suspect a porcupine is not long for her painful acquaintance, or god forbid a water moccasin.

She leaps into the pool at the smallest notion – a floating junebug or leaf for instance. She doesn’t test the waters with a paw like Chica did, she just jumps right in. And her leaps aren’t horizontal, but rather straight up and out and she gets considerable air for so small a pup. And Biscuit is a bear of very little brain. On Memorial Day she was standing under the diving board and leaped in, hitting her head so hard on the belly of the board that I thought she’d drown from having a concussion. But unsurprisingly God/Satan gave her an impenetrably hard head, knowing she’d need it.

But, you know what, as much as a pain in the ass Biscuit is, she’s growing on me. Wywy adores her, and that’s enough for me. But I also find that I like her uninhibited damn-the-torpedoes philosophy of life. I find myself taking more chances lately, as I’ve been sort of cocooned for the last few months. Maybe Biscuit can teach us all something about actually living life, instead of coasting through it. Go ahead, try that new sushi roll, write something that you know will be controversial, suggest a wild new sexual position to your mate (this last was disastrous, be warned. Biscuit’s philosophy of life has limits, as she found out with the skunk and I found out with….. well I’ll tell you later). Life is meant to be lived. Live it. Go forth and … bite a skunk. You bite enough skunks, at some point you’re going to bite into a Cinnabon.

And look here. I bit so many skunks that eventually I got Lulu. Just look at them legs. Better than two Cinnabons.