The Gizmoidian Ooze

There is a series of sayings, one of which is: "If a butterfly flapped its wings in Beijing, there will be sun in Central Park." This saying illustrates The Butterfly Effect - the idea that a seemingly unrelated event can have significant impact on reality as you know it. Well, after the past ten days, I would like to submit a new iteration to The Butterfly Effect: "If you watch your mom's papillon for ten days, will you ever be able to get all the dog hair out of your house?"

For those of you that do not know, a papillon is a long-haired, small dog with absolutely no impulse control or personal space. My mom's papillon, and my charge for the past week, is named Gizmo. I love dogs, have one of my own, and, honestly like Gizmo. But this dog, in all his neurotic glory is worth taking the time to write about.

As I mentioned, Gizmo is a long-haired dog. A really long haired dog. He walks into a room and literally explodes hair. While I have never seen Gizmo shake, my entire apartment is covered in his hair. I get dressed for work. There's dog hair on my clothes. I open my laptop. There's dog hair covering the keyboard. I pour a bowl of cereal. There's dog hair in the dish. Even as I sit here typing, I am fighting with an elusive strand of dog hair that is currently on my face.

My dad once compared Gizmo's shedding to flesh-eating bacteria. While the comparison is apt, it is probably a little too harsh for such a cute little dog. Therefore, I have named it the Gizmoidian Ooze - a name which was inspired by my recent rediscovery of the Ghostbusters movie franchise. Ooze aside, to fully appreciate my past week, you need to appreciate the character named Gizmo.

Gizmo is neurotic. He's shifty. He skulks and scrambles as close to buildings as he can.

Gizmo doesn't like to get his feet wet (think about Indianapolis weather over the past ten days for a minute). He does not mind using the restroom in the tight space under a bed.

Gizmo cannot go more than 30 minutes without hearing the sound of his own voice. Day or Night. Day. OR. Night.

Gizmo loves to dance. Hula is his favorite type, Lady Gaga and the Black Eyed Peas are his jam.

Gizmo is afraid of Roombas and the stick you use to open and close blinds. Gizmo is not afraid of moving vehicles, strange people, or large, aggressive dogs. Therefore, if you vacuum or open/close the blinds, he will hide. If you are walking down the sidewalk, he will dart into the road after motorcycles, large dogs, and intergalactic invaders only he can see.

Gizmo is unable to eat unless someone is watching him. Gizmo is unable to focus on one task if someone is watching him.

Gizmo has no personal space. Absolutely none. Showers and pillows mean nothing to Gizmo - he shares and shares alike.

Gizmo only wants to play with the toy another dog has. He thrives on drama.

Gizmo's problem solving methodology always starts and stops with incessant barking. His tones are less than dulcet.

Gizmo's ears are roughly the size of and have the reception of large satellite dishes. He hears everything. And feels the need to then add his two cents. Always.

If he is ignored for too long, Gizmo develops a limp.

If he gets overly excited, Gizmo begins to snort like a pig.

If he is around lots of people and dogs, Gizmo turns into limping, snorting lunatic.

The hour between 9:30 and 10:30 p.m. is the "Giz-ing hour" and is marked by frenzied playing and even more barking than usual. He might be able to tell time, his mania is so precise.

So in answer to my initial paradox: Will I ever be able to get all the dog hair out of my house? Probably not. Would I trade watching this neurotic, lunatic of a dog for a cleaner house? Absolutely not.

As I close, Gizmo has opted to steal yet another toy and incite a small riot on the floor and that damn strand of dog hair is still somewhere on my face.