Sunday, August 2, 2009
Driving Miss Nana – Crazy.
Last night, Tikki the Toy Poodle decided to push my buttons. ALL my buttons.
When you live in a teeny tiny condo, every inch of space is considered for storage. The electric frying pan is stored in the oven, every shelf has a decorative box o’crud, there are hooks and bins and I keep bringing home innovative ironing board hangers, organizing gizmos and plate stackers.
I can’t afford a Murphy bed so I`ve been diligently working with the grandsons to teach them to sleep in an upright position in the front closet when they come to stay over. Can you blame me? Otherwise I’d have to brave the horror, tidy and restack the cartons o’crud in the spare room so we could open the sofa bed.
The space under our bed is filled with clever Rubbermaid totes, more decorative boxes and some pictures I’ve been waiting to hang once the building settles.
So what if we’ve been here 5 years, it’s too soon to hang stuff up, I tell ya.
It`s been so long since I`ve gotten down to look under there I really don`t remember what is contained in those boxes or what the pictures are of. I only remember it is all Good Stuff I can’t live without. Forget the fact the antique Roadshow never comes to Canada and that none of it is even an antique. It is irreplaceable, valuable stuff and I. Must. Keep. It. All.
Last night when it had finally cooled off to 120 billion degrees, Tikki patiently waited until I had nearly fallen asleep before he implemented his plan to rid me of any vestiges of sanity I might have.
He wiggled a space between two underbed Rubbermaid containers, then delighted me with his Buddy Rich imitations in 20 minute sets. He mixed it up by drumming on first one, then the other, then playing the bottom of the box spring like cymbals.
He was right in the middle of the bed and I couldn’t reach him. And he’s too smart to fall for any amount of coaxing or bribing.
Me: (whispering ) Tikki, what the heck? Get out from under there!
(surprisingly, he does not obey)
Me: (stage whisper) Tikki, c’mon it’s 1:30 already. Get out here.
(more frenzied drumming)
Me: (sugary, wheedling tone ) Ti-key, C’mere sweetheart, c’mon. Who’s a good little guy? Huh, who is? You are, yessss you are. C’mon sweetie.
(box spring solo)
Me: (hissing angrily while peering under the bedskirt) Tikki, you miserable little mutt, get out here.
(predictably, a short intermission is called while the misunderstood poodle retreats further and sulks under the far side of the bed.)
Me: (approvingly) (foolishly) Good Boy!
42.3 seconds later the joyous frenzy of drumming begins again.
Me: (bedside light on) Aw, Tikki...come off it. C’mere. Let’s go to sleep. (snaps fingers in an encouraging manner.
Tikki: What?! Just because I am French she thinks she can click zee feen gares like so and I will be at her side like, like, you would summon a waitare? I am zee arteest and I must play !
Me: (attempting to lie on floor in spite of my broken buttocks and look under bed) Listen dog, or Snoop Dog or whoever you think you are. Knock it off. Come out here now mister
At one point, I even disconnected my C-pap mask and allowed the air to blow beside the bedskirt in an effort to lure him out. He loves playing with (destroying) my machine.
Nothing worked and these scenes were repeated at varying intervals.
He’d stop for a few minutes, I’d relax and then he’d think of someone else to dedicate a number to.
I was considering homicide, suicide, pesticide...
Finally as 2:45 a.m. approached, I played my trump card. I engaged the ultimate weapon. It was desperate times, I took desperate measures.
I sicc’d the Wonderful Daughter on him.
Less than 3 minutes after I gently roused her from slumber by flicking on the overhead light in the spare room, she had him out from under the bed, the containers pushed back together to discourage any encores and the Artist Formerly Known as Tikki was confined to his kennel.
In the bathroom.
With the door shut.
And the exhaust fan on.
She is truly deserving of her pseudonym.
*edited to add*
Tikki wanted me to mention he is accepting bookings for weddings, graduations and bachelorette parties