Yesterday Papi and I learned an important lesson:

In this life, sometimes slightly bigger dogs pee in your face, and there's not a whole lot you can do about it.

I'll explain: we were walking along Cromwell Circle, minding our own, when up runs a mini pit bull. Have you ever seen one of those micro kegs, like of Honey Brown or another such beer? Picture one of those, but with legs and a tiny head. And a studded collar. This dog is off the leash, and comes running up. He seems friendly enough, so I let him sniff Papi and vice versa. His owner runs up, says hi, we talk shop (turns out that September 4 will be his birthday, and his name is Sparda, with a 'd'. I did not tell her that I think this is a pretty dumb name), and everything's ok.

Then, out of the blue, Sparda turns halfway around, lifts his leg, and casually begins to relieve himself directly onto Papi's face. Now, since both these dogs are fairly low to the ground and all the anatomy involved--canine junk and snouts--are somewhat obscured from a viewer positioned directly above, at first I didn't think what I hoped had not happened, had happened. Papi immediately gave a startled little jump out of the line of fire, so I figured he had prudently saved himself at the last minute from a fate worse than death. (It did not occur to me at the time that this eventuality would be little short of miraculous, given my dog's utter lack of anything even abstractly resembling common sense, let alone prudence.) Sparda's owner was appropriately abashed: "Sparda," she cried, "that was very bad manners!" I agreed; urinating so near another dog's head deserved at least a stern admonishment and perhaps even a physical correction (nothing drastic, of course, but it's important to communicate clearly your displeasure to the animal).

And then I peered in more closely, and, to my great dismay, noticed a distinct dampness running from between Papi's eyes, down his nose and on either side of his face. I laughed, then I cried, then I laughed, then I cried again. Words, for the most part, failed me. "Oh, no. Oh, no, Papi. There's no way that just happened. Oh, jeez." Papi's dismay at least equalled and probably surpassed mine, as evidenced by his fevered attempt to wipe away Sparda's business from his grill with his paw. To no avail, of course; I don't think either of us will be able to completely erase this marking for some time--and maybe forever. Of course, we put on a brave face, if you'll pardon the pun; we brushed aside the apologetics of Mama Sparda with a breezy "No problem!" But inside, both Papi and I knew that something important had just happened to us.

Love heals all wounds with time, of course, and mini dachshund pups are nothing if not resilient, and so with a face cloth, some warm water, soap and a little shushing, both pup and man pulled ourselves together. Sadder but wiser we carry on, and we live to tell the tale:

In this life, sometimes slightly bigger dogs pee in your face, and there's not a whole lot you can do about it.

Watch out for number one with me,
TR