PUNK PROSE: TEMPER TANTRUM by Laura Stamps

1. 

When I wake up it’s Sunday morning. The birds are singing. The sun is shining. And Penny is sleeping next to me. She’s curled in a tiny ball, her head resting on my stomach, pressing against my bladder. Ouch. So much for the new dog bed I got her. And she’s snoring. Loudly. So loud I can barely hear the birds anymore. Is that normal? Do dogs snore? Some do. I guess. And mine is one of them. Lovely.     

 

2. 

I know what you think. I’m throwing a temper tantrum over a sweet, homeless, little dog. A dog I never asked for. A dog I never wanted. And yet here she is. You think I’m being ridiculous, immature, and delusional. You’re right. I am. And I don’t plan to stop. Not soon. No. Not yet. Change is not my friend. Never has been. Never will be. I don’t handle change well. Especially big changes. And this one is huge. Mammoth. It could take a while. And it will. This tantrum. I’m just saying. So there.   

 

3. 

Penny opens her eyes. She reaches up, puts her paws on my shoulder, and snuggles closer to me. It’s like she’s trying to hug me. To wiggle as close to me as she can. Like she likes me. Like she might even love me. Already. Wow. Imagine that? To be loved. By something. By anything. Oh, geez.  

 

4. 

I put my arms around her, and she sighs with happiness. Oh, geez. Who can argue with that? Not me. Okay, I give up. Temper tantrum over. This dog situation is what it is. I may as well make the best of it. Or try. Penny snuggles closer. She appears to be happy. Really happy. But how is that possible? I had my cat for fifteen years, and I never knew if she was happy. Penny has only been here for a day. And look at her. She’s a happy camper. Obviously. Is this a dog thing?  

 

5. 

Could be. Who knows? I should ask someone. Someone who knows. Someone like Sharon, my best friend. She’s a dog person. She likes dogs. Has a dog. She knows about dogs. Unlike me. A cat-lover who knows nothing about dogs. Zero. Less than zero. Nada. A cat person who never liked dogs. Never wanted a dog. Never knew anything about dogs. Still doesn’t know anything. Still. That would be me.  

 

6.  

A few minutes later I pull on a pair of sweats. I attach Penny’s new leash to her collar. I figure out how to clip the poop bag dispenser to the leash. And we’re out the door and on our way to the clubhouse at my apartment complex. This is my Sunday ritual. My quest for caffeine. My Sunday morning pilgrimage. The coffee machine in the game room. That’s where I’m headed. It offers a much better cup of coffee than the one I make every morning. It’s my Sunday indulgence. One cup. Two cups. And I’m transformed. Zombie to human. It’s a miracle. I’m a new woman. Or at least I’m coherent. 

 

7. 

Our next stop is the palm tree in front of my apartment building. Last night I watched two videos. One on poop bags. One on potty training a Chihuahua. The video said it’s easier to potty train a Chihuahua when you take the dog to the same spot every day. That would be this palm tree. Penny’s choice. Not mine. This is the tree she picked last night for doing her business. This tree is now our Designated Doggie Toilet, which is fine with me.  

 

8. 

But here’s the thing. This. This I want to know. Is Penny potty trained? Did Joe do it? Joe, the homeless stranger in the park. The man who tossed Penny into my lap yesterday while I was sitting on a park bench, eating my lunch, enjoying the day, minding my own business. The man who said Penny was boring. A boring dog. Tossed her at me like a crumpled piece of paper and pedaled away on his bike. Who knows what Joe did for Penny? Who knows if he did anything for her? Who knows if anything he told me was true? And what about Joe? For all I know he lied to me about everything. About his name. About his bike travels with Penny. About his homelessness. About everything. For all I know he drives a Mercedes and lives in a million dollar house on the beach. Right here. In south Florida. Who knows?  

 

9. 

But this I do know. I need to stop. Thinking about him makes me crazy. And now I’m upsetting Penny. She looks worried. Or not. Maybe she just has to pee. Yeah, that’s probably it. Potty time. We need to get to that palm tree. And fast.  

--Laura Stamps