namely, fit for a dog

no go in playroom!

with 10 comments

When I was a kid we had a black poodle named Sasha (I hadn’t seen Point Break yet so naming her the Zeph was not yet on the radar).   She never told me as much, but I gathered that Sasha lived a somewhat difficult life.  She had survived being run over by a car (I think more than once), had terrible cataracts in her eyes, was completely blind (I am not certain, but I surmise the blindness may have been caused by doing battle with one of those cars), and she lived with me (I’ll get back to this point later).

I really loved that dog. I remember the day Mom met me and Dad in the driveway to tell us that Sasha had died while we were at baseball practice.  I cried. Then went in the backyard where Mom had stashed Sasha in a garbage bag and set her next to the dumpster (nice touch Mom).  I pulled Sasha out of the bag and gave her a kiss on the head (in hindsight that seems a little awkward and umm…icky).  Since that day I have always felt a twinge of guilt about some of the “tricks” I used to play on Sasha.

What kind of “tricks” you might wonder? 

Well, given that Sasha was blind, she made her way about the house rather gingerly. I was always amazed at how well she knew the layout of the house and could navigate between rooms.  That is unless someone messed with her sense of direction by calling her name and then setting random things between said someone and her.  Watching an aging blind poodle find her way around obstacles by gently bumping into them was pure comic entertainment to a 5 year old.  To a 35 year old…I feel guilt.  But not so much guilt as regret.  And not so much regret because of what I did, but because of the dreaded BLACK POODLE VOODOO curse I have been under for 30 years now.  It is real…and lasting, oh boy is it lasting (I’ll get to this point later too).

Not long after I discovered the joys of messing with Sasha, I started sleep walking and talking.  The first sign of the Black Poodle Voodoo came the night The Sister (I only have one) heard thumping, bumping and banging coming from my room in the middle of the night. 

Thump, bump, BANG.  Thump, bump, BANG.   

The Sister is 11 years older than me and kind of motherly which is why she came in to see what all the commotion was about.  Turns out…it was the Black Poodle Voodoo.   The Sister found me in an unconscious state of repeatedly walking into the closet doors…falling back from the collision…then walking into the doors again.  Thump, bump, BANG.  Over and over. In my mind’s eye I can see Sasha skulking there in a dark corner, the poodle version of Baron Samedi, with my voodoo doll likeness in paw walking me repeatedly into those closet doors – while muttering under her biscuit breath “so you like to mess with blind dogs, huh? Bwahahaha!” 

Side note: Speaking of Baron Samedi and James Bond, after seeing Live and Let Die was anyone really comfortable drinking 7 UP in the 70’s and 80’s?  I always worried that after drinking it I would pass out, then wake up bound to a pole  in some Haitian jungle with crazy people all gyrating around me.  Frightening.

As I was saying….Black Poodle Voodoo.  What happened next is evidence that doggy voodoo is very enduring.  Another late night and The Sister hears footsteps and a door open in the hallway.  Curious and probably a bit concerned, she opens her door to see me standing in the dark…in front of the hallway linen closet…door open…PEEING. On the linens.  Totally asleep.

[30 years later] 

Last weekend I notice a note on the kitchen counter.  On it The Wife has cryptically written “NO GO IN PLAYROOM!”


As I relate the story, in my mind’s eye I can see Sasha again up in doggy heaven (or some voodoo doggy afterlife that looks a lot like a Haitian jungle), with my 2 year-old son’s voodoo doll likeness in her paw.  Directing him to go up into the playroom.  Take off his diaper.  Then POO on the floor.  But wait, there’s more…for good measure have him STEP IN IT and then TRACK IT around the room. Little brown footprints…all over the place. 

Seriously…no go in playroom.

Written by eber

January 29, 2009 at 8:00 pm

10 Responses

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  1. so the curse passes from generation to generation? or is your 2 year old simply the vehicle for the curse to continue to, er, curse YOU?


    January 30, 2009 at 12:41 pm

  2. In the interest of redeeming your Mom, her placement of Sasha was for the viewing; not her disposal. Perhaps you recall, you carved ‘Our Dog Sasha’ on a piece of wood to be used as a marker. We cried as Sasha was enshoud in the black plastic bag and given a proper burial in the corner of the backyard, under the tree, where the sandbox once was.

    Seems Keegs knows how to get even!


    January 30, 2009 at 7:10 pm

  3. wahoo a new blog!!!!! Where’s the pictures, just kidden I think the stories are entertainment enough… I’ve heard the one of you running into the door a couple of times, but poor keegs… or I guess you guys since you have to clean it up. ah ha

    I always thought bhodi zepha was one of your weird chinese names you got from your mission. Oh man you and Ian would be a good married couple, you and your weirdo names.


    January 30, 2009 at 9:47 pm

  4. dug – fortunately for me, the Wife cleaned up the mess. so it seems the 2 year old is the vehicle to pass it on to Cic

    Dad – i do remember carving the plaque. i wonder if the remains are still there.

    lindsay – how does Ian feel about back hair?


    February 1, 2009 at 3:34 pm

  5. Seriously Eric….that “sweet” little dog could not be capable of leaving a voodoo.


    February 2, 2009 at 7:11 am

  6. I think that’s called the Black Poodle “Doodle”. Bro, that story has nothing to do with your dog. That’s called Kaye’s revenge. I remember peeing, and watching you pee around your house totally awake! I remember many Bumps, Thumps, and Bangs – again, nothing to do with a dog. Poor, poor Kaye. The woman deserves a Gold Medal in parenting. This is why your wife doesn’t like it anymore – I told her like it is…Keegs is YOU. Mini Eric all over again. Poor, poor Cic.


    February 2, 2009 at 3:12 pm

  7. Meant to say…”why your wife doesn’t like me anymore”. I hope she still likes “it”.


    February 2, 2009 at 3:13 pm

  8. […] I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to Kenny’s and Elden’s brats until our batch (the LAST batch) rolled off the grill and into the fire.  It was like someone had just kicked my favorite poodle. […]

  9. Thank you for sharing. Took me years to realize Christmas could be whatever. Last couple years post-divorce have helped with that. Although others insistence to make something of Christmas for me or worry that I’ve got no plans is still a learning experience. My heart goes to you, Marcus and Sami-cat. It’s never easy but the holidays make it that much toheghr,whetuer we want it to or not. Here’s to Christmas pj day, books, eats and movies with no regrets.


    May 23, 2017 at 7:29 pm

  10. Thank you for the comment Aaron! I ran into the main guy (who spoke a little English) the next day but not the actual fighters themselves. Although in the next town I went to, every wall of every restaurant and shop was covered in Osama bin Laden posters. But nobody bothered me at all and everyone was quite friendly.Perhaps I will talk about it some more if I ever get around to finishing a book!

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