The things a Yokie has to do to sell a condo

It looks like, since Pocket and I took over the selling of our condo, that we finally have a buyer!  It is a young couple, and I think what sold them was our blog.  While we posted the blog to show a dog's perspective of the house we had not realized it was also a baby's perspective.   Now this baby is still in it's Mommy but smart baby's know that is when they are the most persuasive.  There is nothing like sitting on someone's bladder for two days to persuade them to see the situation from your point of view.

I hated when people would come in the house to be "shown" the unit.  We had to sit with Daddy.  He held us firmly by our harnesses.  So here we were, with visitors in our house, and we couldn't run up to greet them, jump up on them to see if they smelled like any of our friends, grrr at them until they gave us scratches, give them welcoming licks.  Nothing.  All these people did was make us get out of our snuggly bed early.

But the baby was able to look out the belly button portal and we had an offer.  It was a little lower than what Mommy and Daddy wanted but it was time for us to move so we took it.  Then they went to the place where we go for walks, where the people who smell like prunes live. They found us a nice house there.  We haven't seen it yet but we trust Mommy's taste completely.  I began to dream of a house where every spot on the carpet didn’t smell like Pocket pee.  Well, at least for a week.

The world would be a much better place if people would only listen to the opinions of babies and dogs.  But no, some human went and got involved.  A man human.  An old man human.  These are the worst kind.  We have one that comes over once a week and he won't let us sit with him and we have to get picked up when he moves around because he falls down easily and I guess old people explode when they fall.  What a mess.  So this old person came in, but get this, Pocket and I got to go out with Mommy and Daddy.

Pocket and I are allowed to roam the back seat but Pocket is going to put an end to that.  She is such a poor passenger.  I am content to look out the window.  But Pocket insists she is going to get in the front seat with Mommy and Daddy.  She sits on the floor then crams her head between the seats and tries to slither into the front section like a snake on a plane.  Mommy or Daddy push her back and tell her no but then she slithers her way back up there.  I swear when I am strapped to some little car seat while we travel I am going to be so mad at her.

We went to the most wonderful place on earth:  Target.  We park in the handicapped spot because Mommy can't walk.  This is a great spot because everyone coming in and out of the store has to pass the car and I love to people watch from my spot behind Mommy's seat.  But Pocket!  She slithers her way to the front seat and keeps trying to get a better view of what is going on by climbing higher and higher on Daddy, who waits with us in the car.  She starts by climbing up to his chest, then his shoulder, and finally sitting in his head.  I don't mind that really, my people watching is enhanced because they slow down and look at the man with the Yorkie toupee.

When Mommy came out we went to the Mall, another good place for people watching but not as good as Target, so I snuggled up for a nap.  Pocket climbed on Daddy's head again, thinking it would draw humans, but it didn't.  Mommy called our Realtor Donna, who was there for the inspection and she said that they didn't find anything wrong, just some rot on the window sills, so Mommy and Daddy were relieved.

Later that day Donna called back and we could sense Mommy's anxiety level rising..  The baby must have shifted and been sleeping somewhere that wasn’t on a vital organ.  It's parents wanted Mommy and Daddy to replace the sills.  Mommy called a contractor.  Someone else who came in our house that we couldn't jump on and smell.  He told Mommy and Daddy that you couldn't just replace the sills, you had to replace the entire window unit, for two bay windows, for a cost of about 6,000 kibbles.

Well Mommy and Daddy would have to knock over a Petco to get that kind of kibble, so it seemed the dream of selling the condo across from the crazy hospital and moving to a one floor home was sinking like the Titanic.  Daddy got mad at a hundred different things at once.  He's the Whack-A-Mole of anger.  Mommy just got depressed.  On Saturday night they were sure they were never selling the crazy condo.  Sunday morning when we went for our walk Daddy saw one of the people on the Condo Association.  She told Daddy that it would be foolish to replace the windows.  Other owners had covered their rotten wood with the aluminum.  She also said that the mother of the girl having the baby had gone around asking lots of questions about us and the condo.  This got Mommy and Daddy very upset.  This woman, who hadn't even seen the condo, was putting the kibosh on the deal.  The kibosh I say.

Now with Daddy playing whack a mole and Mommy with teary eyes it was time for Pocket and I to do something.  I contacted the Ning weasels.  I don't like doing business with them but we have been an excellent web site, fully paid our dues, and don't cause them any problems.  After Mommy and Daddy fell asleep we slipped out the invisible doggy door, and went to the seedy side of town, where the cats aren't spade and the squirrels are scared.

We were let into the room where the weasels were smoking cigarillos and playing canasta.  They were mixing Throwback Mountain Dew with Robitussin.  These were not weasels to mess with.  I sat down in one of their weasel chairs.  My tail was too small to fit through the small slit the weasel tails slipped through.  Pocket stood behind me.  She was my muscles.  If the definition of muscle is something that turns and runs at the first sign of trouble.  The Weasel asked me what I wanted.

I said "I come here with much respect, but these people, they make an offer on my Mama's house, and then they come back to them, and they're no so happy with the offer.  There are these window sills, purely there for cosmetic appearances, capice?  But now these bugiardas want the whole set of windows and mama mia this is going to cost some serious deniro.  My Mama, she sit homes and she's a crying and it breaks my heart.  I don't like to see my Mama cry.  Godweasel, can you help my Mama?"

The weasel took a pull on his cigarillo.  "And how are these home improvements a cause of concern to me Foley Monster?"

"The Tanner Brigade, it's one of your best Ning sites, if my Mama becomes too distraught to run the site it could collapse, and we won't be able to pay our yearly tribute to you Godweasel."

He shook is his.  "You have proven yourself a good and loyal friend Foley Monster.  I can give this to someone who can help you.  Now, as I sign of respect, lick my finger."

I looked at the leathery, skinny, smelly finger.  "Can't we just shake on it?" I asked.  He shook his head.  "How about Pocket licking it?" he shook his head.  So I licked the skanky finger.  Uccchhh!  The things we do so our Moms don't cry.

One of the weasels showed us out.  I heard the Godweasel tell one of his weasels to give the job to Luca Hedgehog.  Gosh I hope that nice young mother and her big, tall, geeky boyfriend weren't about to come to harm but I had to protect my Mama.

The next day the other Realtor calls and tells us the deal is back on.  As of right now we should be moving into our new home at the place were people smell like prunes by April 22.  If something changed I will let you know, but you will probably know first.

If you see a bunch of weasels scheming you’ll know why.