Saturday, August 15, 2009

Who wants to be Foley's Daddy

Daddy, the less intelligent of the two slope noses that I live with, got a call from someone called a PA yesterday after he had something called an MRI. Do you find it as annoying as I do that so many humans speak in initials?

Well there was good news and bad news. The good news is that he does not have a torn ligament. “Nice,” I thought when he said it. “I haven’t had a good walk in two months while girlie man here is limping around with a splinter in his leg.”

Then he said that the MRI had shown he has a fractured leg. Well. That’s a shame.

Daddy doesn’t know what they are going to do, immobilize him (how do you immobilize someone who only moves to eat and pee?), put him in a cast, or operate on him. If they operate he may not be recovered until February. That’s when I realized what I needed: A new Daddy.

So I am putting out an open casting call for a new Daddy for Pocket and me. You will get a nice bed to sleep in, very good meals (Mommy is a great cook), and the forever friendship of two wonderful Yorkies (OK, one wonderful Yorkie and Pissy.)

So you don’t waste your time coming for an audition when you have no shot of getting the gig let me give you the characteristics we are looking for:

You need to have the ability to walk: Sorry, Daddy, but this is where you really fell down on the job. If you have trouble remembering this qualification then memorize this handy couplet: Foley doesn’t require a lot of walking / Just slightly more than Steven Hawking. Ten to fifteen minutes a day is fine. Just understand that interjected into this walking will be long spells of standing while Pocket and I sniff every square inch of ground we cross so this fifteen minute walk could take an hour and a half. So walking, and more importantly standing, is required. And please, no Segway scooters, I would rather be outside with a one legged Daddy then a two-legged geek.

You need to differentiate between green balls and be ready to throw one at all times: Pocket has two green balls. One she chases. One she ignores. You need to, with little notice, tell which ball is the ball that she chases, and throw it, and then retrieve it from wherever she dropped it, and throw it again, for hours if necessary. You need to be able to find the ball when Pocket drops it and noses it behind or under furniture. To give you a hint Pocket will run headfirst into several objects in the general vicinity of the ball’s location. This is where Daddy’s cane comes in handy. He used it several times to scoop the balls out of tight spots. Also you can’t be all prissy about getting your hand covered with dog goop. Pocket leaves lots of goop on her ball after she’s been playing with it.

You are going to be required to take a lot of s**t: And dispose of it. We live at a condo complex so whenever we double you have to pick it up and either bring it to the dumpster or to the toilet with the not always reliable flush. Now I don’t like the dumpster so when you go near it expect me to be pulling you to get away from the big, loud, smelly thing with the giant mouth. And don’t forget after you’ve done a pick up and put it in your pocket (because you’re holding two leashes), you don’t want to be like Daddy and be at work, someone asks you for a tissue, and you pull out one filled with double. When you throw it away you have to tell the inquisitive people that it was just some s**t you found.

You need to brush your teeth a lot and taste good: Whenever Daddy brushes his teeth Pocket and I wait for him. When he sits down we are both in his mouth fighting for a good lick spot. Second mouthed toothpaste tastes great. First mouthed, we don’t like as much. Once we’ve removed all the toothpaste I insist on either being scratched just above my chest or to lick your hand until every bit of salt is off. Pocket will also want you to play tug of war so you better have both hands free. Plus in bed we both will lick your mouth, and then I will lick your hands, arm, face, while Pocket will insist on playing tug of war. Oh, plus I’ll jump on your wrist and hump it like a puppy who just discovered his rocket. Trust me, you become my replacement Daddy you’ll get more action in the sack than a Kardasian.

So this is what we are looking for: A middle aged man, good looking for Mommy, good salary, who can walk but is patient so we can stop and smell the flowers; who can tell the difference between a dog’s green balls; doesn’t mind a pocket full of Pocket s**t; and doesn’t mind getting his toothpaste licked out of his mouth, leaving both hands free for licking and tug of war, and doesn’t mind an occasional wrist hump.

If you think you have what it takes then go to Gillette Stadium on Sunday at noon time where we will be holding auditions. The judges will be me, Pocket, and Posh Spice because we just couldn’t afford Paula. Hope to see you there.

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