In case any of you thought that I was the only one who Peek-A-Boo tormented with his willful ways, here's a little story about the week my parents watched him.
Peek hiding in the closet, not out of fear but mainly to torment my parents.
After a week of wandering around the Canadian wilderness with pre-teen children who consider farting the be-all, end-all in humor, I’m writing to appeal to you all for sympathy.
Not for myself, mind, but for the two people who really deserve sympathy concerning this whole experience.
Now, I can hear some of you saying to yourselves, “Selves,” you are saying. “I didn’t know Kimberly’s parents went to Canada with her.”
They had the dubious honor of caring for my dog while I was gone, the infamous Peek-A-Boo.
Pity my parents
Pity the poor neighbors who I suspect were constantly offered a slightly used long haired Chihuahua.
You see, there is this little thing called separation anxiety that affects dogs when they feel they have been abandoned by their owners. And this trip, yep, that just about did it for the Peekster.
To be perfectly precise about it, Peek freaked.
He started with his usual expression of doggy displeasure. He chewed the used/dirty paper in his litter box and scattered the contents around the kitchen. This is what he does when he’s mad at me and I guess he thought my parents would quickly get the message.
I don’t think he planned on my father stepping on a huge piece of Peek-A-Boo poo as he walked in the door.
I’m glad I wasn’t there to witness this; I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.
But did this deter my dog?
Not even a little bit.
In fact, after this ploy failed to get him the appropriate (in his mind) attention, he decided to up the ante. He decided that pottying in the litter box wasn’t emotionally satisfying anymore. He had some serious abandonment issues that needed to be addressed, he wanted to make sure the whole family was aware that he was unhappy. So he began sneaking over to the sink in the middle of the night and peeing right in front of it.
Picture my father shuffling (barefoot) over to the coffee pot first thing in the morning, sliding through a puddle of Peek-A-Boo pee.
My dog is lucky to be alive.
And let’s not even talk about the chewing…let’s not mention the silk plant, the two wicker baskets and the numerous shoes etc that Peek decided to sample in his quest for the best chew toy. Let’s just say when I got there to pick him up, the kitchen was this barren, desolate wasteland with nothing but the table and Peek’s crate. Everything else had been removed after Peek decided to gnaw off a hunk or two.
And then there were the fun hiding episodes in which he wriggled his fat little body around the accordion door and snuck to the back of the closet and stayed there snuggled in a bunch of shoes, chewing away, until my parents had searched the whole house in a desperate attempt to find him.
Then, the day before I got home, Peek got out. He escaped, he ran away and began tearing around the neighborhood, looking for me. My mom was frantic; I had talked to her the day before and she had mentioned how terrible the dog was behaving. I think she thought that I would be convinced one of them had finally snapped and killed him. So everyone take a moment and picture my poor mother running through the neighborhood, dashing up and down the golf course screaming “Peek-A-Boo! Peek-A-Boo!” at the top of her lungs.
What the neighbors thought of this display is frightening to contemplate.
NOTE: Mom would like to interject that she now believes Peek-A-Boo is the stupidest name she has ever heard. I told her it could have been worse, I could have named him Help.
It’s amazing how a week with one slightly neurotic dog can really take the edge of your sense of humor.