House — no, dog — sitting

I had to share a bed with Rudy recently.

Check that — I had a quarter of the bed to myself while Rudy had the rest, sprawled out diagonally across the queen-size mattress. No sharing was involved.

Even when I rolled over on his hind legs, Rudy didn't budge. He didn't even growl. He just kept on sleeping. But as soon as I made my way downstairs to make some morning coffee, he was quickly at my side, almost knocking me over on the way down.

I guess you could say I was house-sitting for my best friend, Monica (Jeriha) Brett and her husband, Jim, while they were in Arizona for a wedding. But let's be honest — the house would be fine without me. Rudy, on the other hand, wouldn't be. He's their 3-year-old Boxer.

"You'll have to give him these pills twice a day," Monica told me the morning she left. "Just put them in his food. He eats anything."

"What are they for?" I asked.

"He's allergic to grass and got a rash," she said. "But when he goes outside, he rolls around in the grass the whole time. He loves it out there," she went on, pointing to her fenced-in backyard. "The doctor says he'll be fine, though."

"Then where does he go potty? In the driveway?"

And thus began a fun-filled week with Rudy.

Monica and I have best friends since seventh grade at St. Mary Nativity in Joliet. The daughter of two school teachers, Monica always was the studious one, her homework completed on time and never daring to talk while the teacher was speaking — that was until I sat next to her.

My teachers, usually nuns, thought it best to surround me with the quiet and smart girls in class. Maybe I wouldn't cause so much trouble then.

Although effective in the beginning, it didn't last. Monica racked up her first demerit for excessive talking, thanks to me. I'm still not sure if her father, Bob, is aware of the offense some 16 years later. I'm guessing he is now.

Monica went to Joliet Central while I opted for Joliet Catholic. Still, every school day came. And so did 6:25 a.m.

"Good morning," said the voice on the other end of phone after I answered the ring. "It's time to get up."

Monica was my best friend and alarm clock. How else could I thank her than by watching her allergy-plagued dog for seven days?

I just let Rudy outside, and he turned back to look at me as if to say, "Aren't you coming out here, too? That tennis ball won't throw itself."

If I had a real job, watching Rudy wouldn't be possible. But as it was, the Cubs were out of town and no comedy was booked on the road. Rudy and I were destined for each other.

Monica and Jim have a huge house in South Elgin. Having free reign of the place was quite nice.

"Their bedroom is as big as my entire apartment," I said to myself as I looked up at their colossal ceiling fan.

Rudy's head turned as if I were talking to him and then held position.

"Sorry buddy. No dogs allowed there."

So after a few car rides, two destroyed tennis balls, a bacon-flavored beefhide that stained the carpet and his paws, numerous Mike Tyson-like play fights ending in the words "No bite," Rudy and I enjoyed our last night together watching TV.

We were both beat.

 

Scott Derenger is a stand-up comedian from Shorewood. His work can be found via his Web site, www.ShaveYourHead.com

08/15/04