Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Barky Hates My Music


I'm up at 11:40 on a Wednesday night, painting a board and the top of the wall that will be behind our fridge. Cutting in on the wall, actually, which is not a dance floor negotiation, but a delicate maneuver that requires balance, patience, blue tape, and neck muscles of steel. And a wet rag for when you screw up and drip Red Pepper paint into your brand new, unsealed grout.

Which will be under the fridge, so you don't really need to worry about it much. Right?

I hit up some net radio on the laptop that now lives atop the TV in the living room, thanks to wifi, to keep me company while I paint, only to find that it was totally freaking out Barky. For the record, the song was the DNA remix of Tom's Diner. Barky does have issues with a particular pitch that sometimes comes up in songs, particularly Beck songs, where I think it shows up in some feedback and loops. Anyway, we don't play any Beck when Barky's around, which shows how much we love him.

The issues were created when he was locked in a room all day with a malfunctioning carbon monoxide detector. We thought that we were keeping him safe. Turns out we were driving him crazy.

Anyway, he heard something that set him off tonight, so he started pacing the hallway, hoping to get into the bedroom to escape, panting, and generally carrying on. I was on top of a ladder with a full paint bucket and a dripping brush, so I couldn't help. He just had to suffer through. He couldn't go into the bedroom because Mama had banished him, presumably for bad blanket manners, which he has a well-deserved reputation for. She needs all the sleep that she can get, since she's leaving at 0'dark thirty tomorrow morning to train up to NYC for a two day meeting, reception, etc. work thing, so she was in no mood for shenanigans, anyway.

Especially not shenanigans coming from the fuzzball who had pulled our coats and baskets out of the closet and tipped over his water bowl while we were at childbirth class tonight. Oh, did I mention that we're going to childbirth classes? Yeah, I'll save those stories up for another post.

In the meantime, if you want to discuss the details of the mucus plug and cervix effacement, I'm your go-to guy. I'm doing nothing but waiting for paint to dry, sitting on the couch with my neurotic hound--who has since calmed down, and who is now flopped out across two cushions of the couch like a fuzzy, drooling sack of concrete. Almost as good as talking about mucus plugs, no?

So, yeah, the music doesn't seem to have killed him, as he had feared. I figure that his hating my music is just training for how 3B will respond to my music. Of course, I will also have to listen to whatever 3B is playing, which I will happily refer to as "that noise." Oh yeah, being a dad's going to be so much fun.

If Mama ever lets me near the child.

3 comments:

  1. Oh jesus, I'm sorry I wasn't around to go check on Barky! What a bad boy! It's funny that Beck bothers him...I wonder if there's any music dogs DO like. He has to listen to me sing when he's staying with me and he hasn't howled at the moon yet, so maybe Celine Dion is more his thing. ;)

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  2. As far as I know, MetroDog isn't much of a music fan. How would one tell? Would the dog start dancing or something? I know he likes the sound of the television though. I think he finds it soothing. Sometimes, I'll leave the boob tube on for him when I run out for a little bit. It's hilarious to see him zoned out in front of the TV. Apparently, he likes Oprah.

    As for mucus plugs, my friend? Ahhh...fond memories. Good luck with that!

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  3. Don't fret, Auntie Banana (that's just so fun to say, I had to write it). The only thing we needed was to ensure was that he wasn't hip deep in our grocery bags, which include a pound of Frango mints; if he ate those, he would have been a dead hound. As for the coats and baskets--he was just being a brat for some reason, and would have done it no matter who checked on him.

    And, as far as we know, Barky doesn't care about either music or the TV--he's more of a non-MSM type, a blog hound. Unless, of course, there are animals making noise--which gets him to cock his head a few times, babies making noise--same response as with animals, or Beck/feedback--which, if let go far enough, reduces him to a quivering, whimpering mess by the front door. It's heartbreaking and not so pretty. Even less pretty than talking about mucus plugs, although I reserve the right to change my mind about that after 3B arrives.

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