Dirt Nips

It was a Tuesday. Taco Night. A date came to the house to meet Dirt for the first time.

“I think he really likes me!” Amy confidently claimed, kneeling down to scratch Dirt’s belly seconds after she walked in. “He’s so sweet. I don’t know what you were talking about, Oscar.” She looks at me, then looks back down at Dirt and says in a puppy voice…“your daddy doesn’t know what he’s talking about, does he? You and my dog, Pete, would be such good buddies!”

Dirt turned his head and looked up at me with his eyes saying, “I know Dad. Just don’t say anything yet. She thinks I’m perfect. A little angel dog. She even wants to introduce me to, Pete.” Standing a few feet away, I just shook my head and smirked.

Amy turns to me and starts to stand up, “See, I told you dogs love me.”

There it was. The line Dirt had been waiting to hear. He had her. Right in the pad of his paw.

“I don’t know why you were so worried.” Amy takes a breath, “He’s super sweet.”

I tilted my head and shrugged my shoulders, wanting so badly to say, “it ain't over yet.”

Amy turns and takes her first steps toward the kitchen. Her back facing Dirt for the first time. One step. “Alright, let's make some tacos!” Excitedly saying with a smile. Two steps. She looks at all toppings arranged on the counter. “Wow! This looks amazing!” Three steps. “I knew you were messing with me. You definitely can cook, and Dirt is so freaking cut…” Before she could finish the word cute, Dirt decided it was time. He wrapped his mouth around Amy's left ankle.

She SCREAMED! I’m talking, nails on a chalkboard meets Mariah Carey high notes, type of scream. Dirt and I locked eyes. Both were impressed with the decibel level. I even glanced at the wine glasses thinking they might shatter.

“Dirt! Bad dog!” It was my turn to do the acting. “Go to your place. Right now!” As he trots to his raised bed, I throw him a quick wink, letting him know it was a marvelous thing to watch.

Amy demanded hydrogen peroxide, a rabbis test, band-aids, and a helicopter transport to the nearest hospital, all while verbally shaming Dirt. “Oscar, that’s not normal. He has issues. Like real personality problems. I mean you saw us, we were totally fine, and now I might not ever be able to wear my Burberry Vintage Check-point pumps again. And I just got them.”

I thought to myself, of course, he has issues, he’s just like me, and what the hell is a Burberry? But that’s not what really bothered me, it was when she said the one thing I can never un-hear… “You really need to get him trained, Oscar! Really.”

Dirt and I took one glance at each other. Our eyes blew up like balloons. I had his back and he had mine, now it was time for me to prove it.

I look down at Amy, who’s frantically taking off her sock trying to find the gushing blood wound that didn't exist, and softly, tenderly, say “what makes you think he’s not trained?”

She still holds the record for the quickest exit. Even Harry Houdini’s head was spinning. She just vanished. And good riddance.

Maybe I’m crazy, but these moments make me laugh hysterically. The type of laughter when someone falls on ice or can’t back a boat down a ramp. It’s innocent. Dirt nips, bring out vulnerability.

Now, before you go thinking this is crazy for me to laugh at this, please know that he’s not really hurting these people, I mean in an aggressive type of way. Most of the time these “nips” barely break the skin, if at all.

It’s Dirt's way of finding out if they’re worth his endless loyalty. We’ve been through a lot of excrement together. If they can’t take a little Dirt nip, they certainly won’t last past the first burnt toast. The way I see it, he’s doing me a favor.

As her taillights faded out of view, Dirt and I had an ole fashioned relationship cue de gra. Best tacos we’ve had in a while.