Wrestling with a 68-pound, pure-bred mutt is a losing proposition

Published 12:00 am Thursday, April 14, 2005


It’s 4:18 in the morning and Cali the dog is ready to go. Where she wants to go or what she wants to do when she gets there is a mystery.

Sean, the owner, is not ready to go. He is somewhere in a different world dreaming of purple taxi cabs and train locomotives.

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But of course Cali the dog, all 68 pounds of pure-bred mutt with nails as sharp as Ginsu knives, has already finished her dreams. She can sleep all day if she wants, and all night and in the afternoon if she pleases.

Somehow, though, in her twisted mental dog alarm clock, 4:18 is her time to practice wrestling moves.

Seemingly from the top rope, she leaps and lands on Sean the snoring, sleeping owner, sending a rush of pain throughout his torso. The 68 pounds land all at once on body parts that are not used to having 68 pounds of mutt land on them.

Sean the owner has learned to sleep through train whistles, Vicksburg Fire Department trucks and the occassional buzzsaw from across Cherry Street.

He hasn’t, though, figured out a way to sleep through the leaping dog.

The shrill shriek of a man having a heart attack merely makes Cali the dog more excited. A swipe across the face with those aforementioned nails follows, then a full-frontal leg kick to the groin.

Sean the owner, well versed in athletics and having been hit with baseballs and cleats in the face, neck, chest, legs, knees and groin, is forced to put the dog in a full headlock.

Without his glasses, Sean the owner actually puts her in a chest lock, begging with what little breath he has for her to quit digging her front claws into his chest.

A short boxing match ensues – again without his glasses, Sean the owner catches plenty of air and slobber.

Cali the dog is unfazed.

She was left for dead on Redbone Road with a gunshot wound. She was rescued, taken to the humane society, had surgery to repair her gunshot wound and walks with a permanent limp. A few air punches by a 3/4 asleep sports editor in a recliner just gets her blood going. Another swipe across the right arm leaves a rosy red set of scratch marks.

By now, though, Sean, the owner, is awake. Cali the dog runs downstairs as the owner, who now has a limp more noticeable than the dog’s, trudges down the stairs, opens the door and watches as Cali the dog participates in her own 100-yard dash toward Cherry Street.

Being as swift as a pregnant turtle and having the early morning reflexes of a comatose cat, all Sean, the owner, can do is muster a yell to stop.

She does. Then she does her business, trots back in the house, up the stairs and back to her bed on the couch.

It’s nearly 4:30 now and Sean the owner tries in vain to go back to sleep. Every creak and crack of a floorboard and he braces for a Hulk Hogan-esque leg chop to the melon.

But Cali the dog is asleep again. Going off the top rope to deliver some revenge crosses the owner’s mind, but that living room table surely isn’t strong enough to hold … Ugh. It sure would be nice to go back to sleep.