by Cyn Mobley

Cyn posted this hilarious story on the Greyhound-L on Sat, 9 Feb 2002. Pilot is now a creaky old man of 12 and still hasn’t learned to pee correctly!

Pilot the bravo pup with Tweeter

Some of you may remember Pilot the Bravo Pup, part of an accidental litter and GUR’d with his stars and the moon blankie from Arizona to San Diego, brother to Amelia Spawn of Satan, survivor of two serious bouts of Ehrlichia and saved only by the wisdom of the list.

I am proud to announce another milestone in Pilot’s life. Yes, Pilot who has always been a squatter rather than a leg lifter, has finally obeyed some obscure genetic compulsion to mark as his very own various bushes, walls and fire hydrants. Pilot is a stunning red fawn boy of 25 months now. He has all the eye-liner, the graceful poses, the sulks and the deep enigmatic stares that either mean he is mentally working out his own theory of quantum mechanics or is about to fart.

He’s very bright for a greyhound – no slams intended – I have a part border collie here. He knows “come”, “sit”, “down”, “heel” (sort of), “find”, “share the couch”, “drop”, “get”, “quit smearing Science Diet on the wall” and “dammit if you don’t bring the remote back you’ll think castration was a walk in the park and I mean it”. As I said – he’s very bright.

But at heart he is a fretful little geek. We all remember the trauma caused when the neighbors left NEW AND DIFFERENT AND STRANGE garbage cans by the side of the road. When the bait dogs across the street barked at him. When a horse stared – STARED! – right at him. Were Pilot a human male, he would have toilet paper stuck to his shoe, the latest computer, and pepper spray on his key chain (when he could find his keys.)

The process of coming to terms with his burgeoning hormones merely foreshadowed what was to come. I am proud to report that he is no longer scared by his appendages and has not bitten his pee-pee since that first incident sent him screaming bow-legged down the hall to cower in his crate. However, this whole business of marking has once again forced him to confront a new challenge.

One day while out on a walkie, Pilot was suddenly fascinated by a fire hydrant. Not that unusual – he’s often left P-mail by his admirers and I know that he is a slow reader. This time, however, he walked around the fire hydrant several times, clearly agitated.

For a moment I thought it was a Dear Pilot letter from one of the bitches. But then he moved close to it, shut his eyes, and leaned on it. His right leg twitched – the one on the side away from the hydrant. He lifted his leg slightly. Nothing happened. He leaned harder against the hydrant, a look of frustration on his face.

By that time I figured out what he was trying to do. “Other leg, Pilot,” I suggested.

He ignored me, as he often does. It’s a guy thing. “Other leg and pee.” Nothing.

This went on for several minutes until Abe, the alpha male and experienced in the ways of the world, came over and peed on his head.

This little maneuver was repeated time after time in the following days. Finally, today, he figured it out. Sidle up to hydrant (how cliche – I mean, really!), lift the leg NEXT to the hydrant, and pee.

Unfortunately, since he’s been a squatter all his life, his aim was remarkably bad. He soaked both front legs and his belly before Abe could pee on his head. Not a drop hit the hydrant. And he has not yet figured out that only a short anointing is required – he was completely out of ammunition for the trip back past it on the way home. Ah, but the look of satisfaction!”Today I am a DOG. I pee!”

Cyn
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