You might be wondering about that last post of a close up of a dog in disgrace who has a bit of attitude about said disgrace. That would be Mercedes, under-under-under-under- under or underdog to the 5th, low dog on the totem pole, last to eat, last out the door, terrified of the cats. Sometimes, though, Mercedes climbs out of the rut into which life has unfairly tumbled her ( read “Mokie and Mercedes”), and she performs with sneaky precision what is known as The Territorial Pee, or TP for short. This is why she was featured in our Most Disgraced Dog photo post, although, as the caption implies, the unfairness of her lot in life has rendered her a little defensive, hence the attitude.
And why, exactly, did our Mercedes go for the TP? Well, there was the leftover Sunday dinner ham, resting on a plate on the kitchen counter in all its glorious juices, tender pinkness, brown sugar glaze crusting the edges of perfectly cut slices, the kitchen suffused from ceiling to floor with the delectable aroma of meat, congealing in the dogs’ scent -factory minds as a technicolor epic of romping little piglets heading straight for 6 romping, chomping Wieners. ( Irony. )
We left the ham unattended while we watched something soothing to the digestive track on television after dinner. There were plenty of Wieners schlepping with us on the couch, at least three of them diligently plying their little pink tongues on The Masters arms, cleaning up whatever scab or cut he’d incurred that day as he lay under iron behemoths, wrestling with God- knows -what piece of metal necessary to the locomotive niceties of tractors and trucks. Stuffed, sated, sedated by all of the above, we failed to miss Mercedes, who, it must be said in our defense, usually was the last to drag herself up to the couch, was further stalled by checking for the presence of a cat or two, and was always, therefore, a little tardy peeking over the couch edge and beseeching someone to help haul her on board.
When you live with 6 Dachshunds, its important to stay focused on 6 Dachshunds. Mercedes hadn’t joined us on the couch: therefore, Mercedes was doing something she shouldn’t be. So when I stepped into the kitchen, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see a four-inch puddle of pee directly under where the ham sat on the counter. Her aim was perfect: you could draw a line with a laser from the ham down to the floor where the pee was. Her message was clear: The ham is mine. And one has to wonder: was she feeling hopeful, as she pissed away? Delusional? Rebellious? Was it a wanton act, born of spite, or an instinctive marking that she immediately regretted?
Isn’t it curious that the two dogs that mark territory the most are the two with never-ending status issues: Mercedes, who is subordinate to everyone, including the cats, and Little Izzy, who, as the only other male, has been trailing in Fritz’s wake for 11 years, routinely pissing on every vertical and horizontal surface that reminds him of Big Fritz, and just as routinely losing every fight he starts. Izzy drives my husband nuts. He knows the little fucker sneaks around pissing wherever he wants just out of his eyesight. It’s almost as if Izzy has status issues with him AND Fritz. Both he and Mercedes seem to be saying, hey, we may be lowest of the low, but so what-a? We pissa on-a your head, so there.
They’re like taggers. Everyone knows what they did, everyone knows who they are, but nobody sees them do it.
The Territorial Pee. Who says dogs aren’t complicated?
I KNOW NOTHING