Mrs. Yuck

I've been out of the loop this week. That's because I've been apartment/dog-sitting for a friend who lives nearby. She left for the week and asked me to look after her precious pup. In exchange, I could stay at her spacious apartment and get away from Dirty Roommate for a few days.

In the end, however, I just traded one dirty roommate for another.

42nd Floorers, meet Mrs. Yuck.

Mrs. Yuck isn't her real name, of course. It's the name I gave her after spending fifteen minutes alone with this dog. First, let me point out that white swirl in her eye. No, that's not my artistic prowess at work adding a little sparkle and shimmer to the canine's eyeball. That white swirl is really there.

This dog is completely blind, completely deaf, has arthritis, weird boils all over its back, pees every fifteen minutes, tries to bite your face if you pet it under its chin--but really only gums you since it's only got, like, three teeth--and has a brown beard.

Yeah. A totally yucky pooch. Can't see. Can't hear. All it can do is smell a little bit. It's like the dog version of--no. I can't. Can't say it. I'm NOT going to make a Helen Keller joke. She was a great humanitarian. This is just some wrinkled old dog.

The thing is, the person I dog-sat for seems to think this once homeless pup is pedigree. My instructions included everything shy of feeding that four-legged prune paté from a crystal goblet.

I was supposed to let the dog sleep with me so it wouldn't feel lonely. Yeah. Except it's about a hundred and eighty years old so it quivers like mad and shakes the whole bed. At one point I knudged it in my sleep which set it to barking the bark of the banshee. So terrifying. Enough was enough. "Okay, bitch, you're sleeping outside."

And since it's a girl dog, it's okay for me to call it that.

When I got back to my apartment, there was a bird in my bedroom.

So that's what I did with my week. What did you guys do?