Tuesday night I was dogsitting for my sister for a few hours when A. called for our daily chat. And in the course of our chat I had to confess that I had gone to bed 40 minutes late. Which was bad, but especially naughty as I had gone to bed that late the night before and gotten off with a warning.
"I think your sister’s dog is going to witness a little domestic discipline," A. said. "Better fetch the ping pong paddle." (Which I was surprised he was even bothering with as he said the day before he can never take it seriously as an implement.)
"But," I whined. "I can’t do this in front of the dog. She’s looking at me."
And she was too. A tan, medium-sized, short-haired dog with big floppy ears sprawled out at the end of the bed who raised her head up and turned it toward me with big dark chocolate eyes.
"Bare bottom, please."
I pouted and pulled down my leggings and underwear. And felt weird
as hell as the dog stared at me while I laid down on the bed, paddle in
"Right, start off with six on each cheek."
I looked at the dog. She was gazing intently at me. I closed my eyes and started whacking. It was with my left hand so they weren’t very hard whacks. But they certainly made a lot of noise. Before I knew it, the dog was practically on top of me licking my face.
"Why is she even on the bed?" A. asked.
"Because I like cuddling with her."
"You shouldn’t let her up on the bed," he scolded. "It’s important for dogs to know you’re dominant."
"But it’s like I’m the auntie. I get to spoil her and send her home."
"No, you’re going to confuse her. Now make her get off the bed."
I pouted some more. Looked at the dog. "Down," I said with only a tiny bit of firmness as I pointed to the floor. The dog looked at me completely bewildered. I ordered her a few more times to get down and finally she did, though not without looking totally traumatized. And lord knows I felt totally traumatized. Was I scaring her emotionally? Was some dog-whisperer going to coax this horrible event from her psyche down the road?
I took a deep breath and resumed whacking. Or tried to. Within a smack or two, the dog was back on the bed licking my face.
"This is clearly not going to work," A. sighed. "Right, well, we’ll just have to finish this tomorrow."
Except, the next day he forgot.
He did remember on Thursday. But then he went for a smoke when I said I needed to change phones (my headset only works on my cordless-sans-Caller ID phone), and when he called back, my dad had stopped by for his weekly visit (which I warned A. about before he went for a smoke).
I answered the phone with a "ha!" and taunted him with "you’re too late…you’re too late."
"Saved by the dad," he said with a chuckle.
Yesterday we didn’t get a chance to chat at all because of various scheduling conflicts (it happens when you’re 7-8 hours apart).
Tonight he didn’t mention the missed spanking, and I feel fairly safe in saying that I think my sister’s dog saved my ass.
Not that I’ve needed a spanking. I’ve been very, very good since. ::grin::