This is Cody, the sexually ambiguous puppy who, were he a bit tougher, would be the new man about the house. But since he belongs to my roommate, there's no chance he'll ever beat her out in terms of masculinity.
Despite his tiny stature, I feel a certain amount of kinship to the little fella. This is perhaps because Saturday night, he was evidently the cause of mass hysteria between my roommate, whose surname I'm convinced is Lucifer, and her now-estranged girlfriend. And given that I had previously unwittingly caused one such escapade before, I think that more or less cements us as kindred spirits.
I won't go into too much detail, other than that I've got thirty more days to call this place my place of residence. If before I thought of this place as Hell, and Hell was a bar... this place has now become such a dive that it's no longer the bar itself, but rather the toilet in the one bathroom stall where everyone goes to puke.
As I was saying, though, Cody caused quite the stir. To the point that the arguing extended beyond what was previously only verbal abuse, into physical abuse. Like, punch and scratch and try to choke each other physical abuse. As was the case with me, it wasn't so much that they were fighting over him, but rather that he was used as the scapegoat for all their problems.
I'm not exactly thrilled that Cody is in Beelzebub's care, to be perfectly frank. She already informed me that he would always be with her, everywhere she went. Which is her way of saying she doesn't want me around the poor guy. I have no problem with this, except that in her raging state of self-pity, she left the house yesterday afternoon and left him locked up in the utility room. And she was gone for hours.
I'm shocked she got the puppy for several reasons:
- She hates it when things get dirty.
- She's not as affectionate is she's been boasting of being for the last 24 hours.
- She thinks that saying "ow you're hurting me" will make the dog stop biting her.
- She thinks she can potty train a puppy by leaving him in the utility room for five hours.
I spent the better part of the day away from the house yesterday. I called the domestic violence hotline in the morning to see what I could do, as a roommate and not particularly loved person in the lives of the war-mongering lesbians. Then I left the house a little after 11 and didn't return until almost five in the evening. Upon my return, my roommate, nostrils flaring, left.
I puttered around the house, enjoying the quiet. It was a sharp and welcome departure from the yelling and screaming that took place from midnight until 2am Saturday night. I heard the dog whining at some point, so I went to check on him. As is the case every time I see the thing, I expect him to look me in the eye, cock his head to one side, and say "Yo quiero Taco Bell." But he just looked at me and whimpered, then jumped up to greet me.
I took him outside so he could run around and drain his little pea-sized bladder. He did, and then we ran around outside a bit before returning inside to play some more. He decided, mid-play, that he also needed to poop, and promptly made to do so on the carpet. I snatched him up and took him outside in an effort to stop him. I'm tough when it comes to potty training, and if you squat indoors I go right outside with you and won't let you in until you're done. Only Cody never went, and after 20 minutes I decided he either a) had cramps or b) became constipated when stricken with fear. The neighboring garage band was practicing on drums, and he was terrified.
I opted to let the dog roam the house and stretch his legs, because, call me crazy, I just couldn't bring myself to shut him back up in the utility room. That and I love having him around because he's hands down the most awesome resident, aside from myself, living at this address. He's skin and bones, though, so I ventured to his food dish to see if I could encourage him to eat. Old Cloots keeps his food and water dish in the utility room, only since Cody is terrified of the large silver dishes, he refuses to go near them.
I think she with the cloven hooves assumed that, if left long enough, Cody would become so hungry that he'd have no choice to but to eat. Apparently, she does not know this dog, because he would rather die than have to actually eat from the bowl. Satan inquired of me, when I reported this to her later, what I felt was the cause of said fear. My reply was, "Oh, I don't know, MAYBE BECAUSE THEY WEIGH MORE THAN HE DOES AND ARE ONLY SLIGHTLY TOO SMALL FOR GREAT DANES."
While in the middle of this heated debate about Cody's eating habits (or lack thereof--the picture above was taken while he was staring forlornly at the food in the dish from which he refuses to eat), 666 Woman paced the living room. And it was then she noticed what I had totally overlooked earlier: dog poop, right at the corner of the rug in her precious living room. Little Cody had managed to pinch a loaf right there on the carpet. First, I was miffed, because I thought I had caught him just in time earlier. Then I was bummed that I didn't get to chew the dog out for being such a bad dog! and all. Then I was filled with understanding about why he simply refused to go potty earlier when he had seemed so desperate to when I tossed him outside. And finally, I was thrilled about the whole thing, especially about the fact that he didn't get in the slightest trouble with his sadist of an owner. Because that means he's going to keep it up. Like, 'Oops, I crapped on the carpet, good thing she thinks I'm so cute because she'll just laugh and tell me how cute I am.'