“He’s got a head like a damn anteater,” says my dad, pressing a thick hand down on Xylo’s long, narrow, snout— currently needling him in the crotch.
“Are they supposed to have heads like this?” Asks my concerned mother, who has not stopped inspecting Xylo since her arrival. “Jaxx”—her current dog, named after one of the Sons of Anarchy characters—“has a bigger head.”
“A real needly nose, like a… like a…”
“A needle,” I offer.
“like a needle,” confirmed my dad, nodding at me.
“Well, Jaxx is a Lab,” I say to my mom. Then to both of them, “Lab’s have bigger heads. Greyhounds have thinner, smaller heads. It’s normal for the breed.”
“It looks strange,” mom laughs to herself, “just, you know odd. Like a big man with a really small…” she stopped.
“Small what?” I wait anxiously to see where this is going.
“Small head. Jesus Dirk, what did you think I would say?”
“You just never know,” I say, looking to Xylo. I never really thought there was anything wrong with the way he was built. I liked the look of a Greyhound: the long, slender, elegant proportions. The way they use double suspension gallop when they get moving fast. I liked Xylo’s black coat because he reminded me of panther from time to time. He had a regal-ness to him, and I thought it was cool.
“I like a dog with a big, square head,” interjected dad. “And Zillow here ain’t aggressive, is he? Meh. I like a dog that will bite your ass if you don’t belong in the house. Keeps the Grandmothers out!”
“Would you like another Jack and Coke, Sam?” Asks my wife, waiting on my father.
“Yeah,” Says dad.
“He doesn’t snoodle like Jaxx does. He must not have any hound in him,” says Mom.
“Uh, well, he’s a Greyhound so, he’s pretty much all hound,” I say.
“Well, I know that, but I mean, he doesn’t snoodle like the hound that Jaxx has in him.”
“Pardon me, but, what is snoodling?” Asks Bonnie.
“It’s a technical term my mother uses to define whatever my mother thinks it should mean depending on when you ask her,” I say.
“It means sniffing everything. Jaxx snoodles all the time. He’s got hound in him,” says Mom.
Xylo, having “snoodled” everyone, retreated into his crate where the softest doggie bedding in the house was located. He circled once then plopped down, exhaled, and started closing his eyes.
“Oh my god, is he okay?” Asks my Mom. She got up and followed after Xylo before I could explain that this type of behavior was normal for the Greyhound as they are lazy by nature, and often seek out soft places to slumber, even with company in the house.
“It’s what Greyhounds do, Mom.”
Xylo looked up at my mom with those tired dog eyes that I knew mean, I’m sleepy. I’m always sleepy.
“He looks so sad, awww, it’s okay puppy, it’s okay, grandma loves you.”
Mom—or should I say grandma—was down on her knees now, crawling into the crate to comfort the dog who looked more annoyed then anything else—probably because mom was smacking him upside the head with toys in effort to get him to play, which he didn’t .
“He’s miserable because you keep him in this crate,” says mom, “he can’t even play.” More whacks to the head.
“He’s crate trained, mom, it’s what he knows. It’s his space. He goes there on his own because he likes it. Greyhounds are aloof, not like Jaxx who is constantly on you for attention.”
“No dogs like a cage, Dirk.”
“Xylo has his space, we have ours, and Jaxx has anything he wants… It’s the circle of life.”
“Dogs hate cages,” she says again, tending to the dog like a wounded war hero.
“This one doesn’t,” I say, “and it’s his space,” I emphasize, hoping my mom will get the hint and vacate.
“I don’t like that he’s in cage. Come on puppy, come out and be with us, we love you.”
“He can’t get out with you in there with him.”
“A German Shepard is my dog,” says Dad. “Now that’s a dog that will let you know when you’re not wanted around. Just bite shit out of you.” He made biting motions with his hands like they were the heads of dogs. “Damn good dog, the Shepard.”
“Yes it is, Dad.”
“When do we get to baby sit him?” Asks Mom.
“Ooooh… uhhh…” I look at Bonnie for support. She shrugs. “Well, Xylo isn’t really good in the car yet,” I say, “but, uh, don’t worry, we’ll let you know when he’s ready.”