Adventures in Cella-Sitting

First and foremost, I'm terribly sorry that I mistakenly said Journey sang Livin' On a Prayer in Tuesday's blog post instead of Bon Jovi. I actually meant to reference Journey's Don't Stop Believin' in the first place, so my mistake all around. I went back and changed it, so please stop emailing me. Seriously. I mean, I love hearing from you guys, but I've never experienced such an influx of angry emails in all of my days of blogging. And it was because I mixed up my frat boy songs with -in' in it. Telling...

So, I'm dog-sitting Cella Hurst again for a total of 10 days and between me, you and the Pooper-Scooper—I'm shitting bricks. (BAHAHA! See what did there?!) Cella's the best; don't get me wrong. It's just that...well...how do I put this delicately? She's kind of got "one paw in the grave," if you know what I mean. She's part pit bull, part grim reaper, if you catch my drift. She's a fafillion fuckin' years old and is about to drop dead at any given second, if you're picking up what I'm putting down. Wiiiiink! Nuuuudge!

I started dog-sitting for Cella last summer and I'd be a whore and a liar if I said I wasn't worried that she'd up and die on me, even back then. I decided to keep my concerns to myself though because I didn't want to disrespect or upset Becky. I told myself that I was just being paranoid and pushed the idea of her dying on my watch out of my mind completely. But then Becca found out that I was going to be Cella-sitting for a 10 day period and blatantly sent me an email being like, "PSHHHH, that dog is going to die on you. You should probably be prepared for that now. Just sayin'." (And just to clarify, Becca is not the same person as Becky. I get that question a lot. There are two Rebecca's: Becca is my sister and Becky is our friend. Kind of like how there's Co-Blogger Chris and Tulane Chris. Except Tulane Chris is now the Co-Blogger and Co-Blogger Chris is now Ex Co-Blogger Chris, not to be confused with Ex Co-Blogger Eddie. That's easy enough, right? And people say this blog is confusing...)

Although Becca was just echoing my own fears, I made the executive decision not to listen to her and assume she was just fucking with me because quite frankly, if the roles were reversed I'd do the exact same thing to her. We're sisters, not saints. (Please tell me why I just wrote that, immediately realized it was the catchphrase for Kourtney & Khloé Take Miami and wanted to punch myself in the face.) (I'm in Miami, trick.)

...And then I got an email from Becky last week with a few last minute reminders about staying in her apartment. They were all pretty typical things you'd expect to hear from someone leaving their apartment to you before they're unreachable in Europe for a while, like who to call if I lock myself out, where to find the trash room, how to turn the AC on, the name and number of the building manager—oh, and an entire section on what to do in case Cella dies. And oh. my. squaw. I am freaking out.

I know this is absolutely nothing to complain about, but I haven't really had a lot of experience with death in my life, nevertheless dead bodies. (KNOCK ON ALL SORTS OF MOTHERFUCKING WOOD. IF I WAKE UP WITH A HORSE HEAD IN MY BED, I'M GONNA BE PISSED.) Sure I've had grandparents die, but one set was cremated and the other was Jewish so there was no reason to have a viewing. Plus I didn't even go to any of their funerals, so I feel like that separated me from the reality of death even more. (I'm not an asshole, I swear. My grandma Catherine died before I was born; my grandpa Bern's ashes are still kickin' it in a closet in my parent's house alongside the ashes of three dead cats and a poodle; I couldn't go to my grandpa Walter's funeral because it was in Long Island and I had school and I couldn't go to my grandma Betty's because, again, it was in Long Island and I was heinously sick with mono. I swear I'm not a terrible person. Well, I might be, but I certainly didn't skip all of those funerals out of choice.)

I've never even seen a dead pet's body. None of our cats died in the house; we had them all put to sleep in the end and Christ knows I wasn't emotionally strong enough to be there for that. (Actually, that's a lie. My cat Nellie died unexpectedly from Corona Disease—THE SILENT KITTY KILLER—and, ironically, it happened when we were on a family vacation and Rachel was taking care of her and my parent's house. I don't want to say "I always blamed her"...and yet, I just did. But I'm sorry, Rachel. I totally get it now. I get it.)

Come to think of it, I've never even seen a pet fish's dead body. I had a fish named Firecracker for an unprecedented six years and one day I came home from school (the first day of fifth grade, to be exact) and my dad was like, "HEY SPORT! [yes my dad is Marshall Darling in this flashback] Did you have a good day at school?" and I was all, "Yeah! I like really like my teacher and the class!" and he was like, "Well, at least you have that. Because your fish is dead. WAMP, WAMP!" I demanded to see Firecracker so I could take him out to the backyard and give him a proper burial, but my dad was like, "Ooooo...really? You're still into that scene? I kind of thought you had outgrown wanting to do that so I chucked him before I put the trash out." This plagues me to this day. Firecracker deserved better than that. He deserved better...

My point here is that I've never seen anything larger than a squirrel dead and I think I would completely lose my shit if I had to see or handle Cella's dead body. I mean, she's a grown-ass dog. She's large. Precious large. I can't imagine seeing something that large dead. It's just so fucking spooky to think about. I realize that this is probably unhealthy and I've honestly tried to take action to get over this. My dad frequently goes to Tennessee on business, so after I got fired and suddenly had a lot of free time on my hands, I proposed I go with him on his next trip and we swing by the UT Body Farm on our way home so I could see a dead body. I genuinely thought he was going to be all about this idea. If there's anything my dad loves more than me
(and Becca) it's kooky adventures! Alas, he gave me a courtesy laugh and walked away. When I pressed the point, he flat-out said no and walked away again. I'm still reeling from the disappointment.

I tried again when I stayed with Eileen for my mini-cation in NYC a few weeks ago and it also failed spectacularly. Eileen is a nurse at New York Presbyterian Hospital and lives next door in the residences, so when we woke up Saturday morning and she asked what I wanted to do, I immediately answered: "MORGUE! LET'S GO NEXT DOOR TO THE MORGUE SO I CAN SEE A DEAD BODY I WANT TO SEE A DEAD BODY SO LET'S DO IT! MORGUE!" Eileen calmly tried to explain to me that you can't just go to the morgue to see a dead body, but I (rightfully) called shenanigans. She's a nurse; of course she can go to the morgue anytime she wants. She then refined her argument to I can't just go to the morgue to see a dead body because I'm not a nurse. Dedicated to the morbid cause and up for the challenge, I concocted a wacky Saved By The Bell-style scheme where I borrow a pair of her scrubs, put on a surgical mask, clip my SmartTrip to my shirt to serve as a makeshift hospital ID and follow her lead, but she seemed oddly pre-occupied with not wanting to loser her job. Pshh. Pussy. Losing your job is not the end of the world. You just get a retail job and babysit half-dead dogs all day, duh. Grow a pair.

So now I'm stuck here with the ticking time bomb that is poor little Cella until next Wednesday and every day that she doesn't die is a bigger surprise than the last. What freaks me out more than the thought of being in the same room as something dead is the conundrum of what I'm actually supposed to do with her body. Becky left me instructions in case of the worst, yes, but all she specified was what to throw out, what to keep and that what I do with the body is up to me; I can bury it, cremate it, give it to science—whatevs. While I love Cella dearly, I barely had enough money to cover the 5-dollar footlong I had for lunch, nevertheless cremation charges. This leaves burial, of course, but where the fuck am I supposed to bury a dog in Washington, D.C.? The idea of me scampering around the greater Dupont area lugging a dead pit-lab and a shovel behind me looking for a peaceful grassy knoll is slightly absurd, so I decided that GOD FORBID the worst happen, I need a game plan. And I think I've concocted one that's pretty damn air-tight.

It's a 4-man job and I think each party involved is about 52% on board with it. Considering that's over half, I think we're off to a good start. I like those figures.

Step 1 is Cella dying. And again, I honestly stress GOD FORBID. She's a sweet baby angel and it would break Becky's heart, so I seriously hope it doesn't happen. But let's just say that it does, Step 2 is to call Ex Co-Blogger Chris and ask him to come over. I really see myself in more of a directorial role throughout this entire process, so Step 3 is to direct Chris to physically pick Cella up and wrap her body in something—in my mind it's an oriental rug because if I'm being honest, I find that visual highly comical, but in reality it would probably be a blanket. Step 4 is to call Alex and ask him to drive his SUV over. Step 5 is to direct Chris and Alex to pick Cella up and put her in the back of Alex's car. Step 6 is drive to the hardware store in Eastern Market and purchase a sturdy shovel. Step 7 is to drive over to the house of the only person I know in the city who has a backyard—Helena. Step 8 is to knock on Helena's door and motion towards the oriental rug and/or blanket. Step 9 is for Helena to open the door and direct us to the backyard, before making a nice pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. I had originally planned for Step 10 to be a round-robin rock/paper/scissor tournament to see who has to dig the grave, but upon hearing Step 9, Chris said he'd, quote, "do anything for free lemonade," so Step 10 is for Chris to dig a ditch deep enough so Cella won't resurface when it rains, while the rest of us sip lemonade and watch his muscles glisten and gleam in the sun. Step 11 is to direct Chris and Alex to gently lower Cella into the grave. Step 12 is to direct Chris to pile the dirt on, bless Cella's heart. Step 13 is for us to go around in a circle and say a few kind words about the life and times of Cella Hurst before I play Danny Boy on the fife I got sophomore year when I went to Colonial Williamsburg with my parents for Fall Break while the sun sets. Step 14? Heal.

I feel slightly better knowing that I have such a well-thought-out and foolproof plan, but I'm still anxious. But, only 7 more days to go...7 more days.

Stay strong, little friend!


ashzilla said...

I think rather than a Hagman life or death update (only for the time being, of course) we need a Cella Hurst life or death update.

By the way is it wrong that I laughed hysterically when you mentioned the oriental rug?

Anonymous said...

One of your BEST posts till date! I kinda did not want it to end..Great job Meg..great job (takes a bow)!!

- S

Lee said...

Meg, surely you've heard that urban legend about the girl who dogsits? Well, take a page from that book.

In case you haven't heard the story: my best friend's sister's friend was dogsitting in Chicago and the dog died. She couldn't get a hold of her friend so she called the vet. The vet told her to bring the dog's body into the office and they'd take care of it. As she was in the middle of the city without a car, she didn't know what to do so she put the dog in her friend's largest suitcase and got on the El. Once on the El, a shady guy asked her what she was doing with such an unwieldy suitcase. She was embarrassed by the truth so she told him that it was stereo equipment. When she went to get off at her stop, the guy pushed her down and stole her suitcase... filled with dead dog. Joke's on him. Problem solved.

Maybe you could save some time and a suitcase and just put the poor thing in a box marked "stereo equipment".

No Name said...

I get a smile on my face every time I see a new post on this blog, and I feel like I am laughing by line 2. But it's the small details that kill me and make me burst out laughing in the most inappropriate places (right now, the library in Paris). This destroyed me,
"I started dog-sitting for Cella last summer and I'd be a whore and a liar if I said I wasn't worried that she'd up and die on me, even back then."

I died. i had to leave the study room and a bunch of angry Parisians glared at me for causing such a ruckus.

Thanks for the laugh/destroying my life.

pook555 said...

Crossing fingers that she lives (at least another week)!!

And yes, we should have Hagman and Cella health updates LOL!

Rachel said...

DUDE!!!! WTF. She died on my watch, ON MY WATCH! I swear!!!!! I cried all night and made my mom get out of bed to help me with the situation....and now...I will not help you if it ever happens...I was traumatized by that shit....

Anonymous said...

Oh my GOD is that dog adorable. I hate you, Meg: I was snickering over that poor half-dead dog all through this post and I get to the end and it is THE. MOST. PRECIOUS. DOG. looking up so helplessly into your merciless "IT'S FOR THE BLOG" camera.

I am so hopelessly torn between wanting to know how the doggie funeral goes down line-by-line and desperately hoping that sweetheart dog never dies ever.

LawyerPants said...

That. Dog. Is. So. Cute.

Lindsey S. said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Lindsey S. said...

@ashzilla I second that motion!

(sidenote- upon reading ashzilla's comment I came to the realization that it's Hagman and not HaNgman. It was always T.G.I. Hangman in my head. Sad.)

Jenn- wizard of words, queen of the universe and all around great time! said...

Christ. I was all about this post and laughing and then the picture!!! And now I'm incredibly sad. That dog is soo cute. Please don't kill it.

Ushma said...

Oh Meg! Rebecca's left Cels in really good hands... If you need help with anything, lemme know!

(Hope the bday party was a fun time; sorry to have missed out!)

Elisa said...

This is like the time we went on vacation and came back to find our friends gineau pig was dead. It was so damn awkward. We thought the house smelled bc the garbage needed to be taken out, but no... dead pig. Weirest part? It was FLAT. Like a pancake. Like it had just deflated. If Cella dies, can you let me know if she goes flat? I'm way curious about this.

Anonymous said...

so one time my ex-roommate and i buried our illegal hamster from sophomore year at gw early one morning on teddy roosevelt island. we're convinced that the maintenance guys thought that we were doing a drug deal. true story.

pretty sure you can't get away with that with a dog, but it's a thought, lol...

Amanda said...

Yeah, I would be the ex-roommate/co-hamster burier. I'm pretty sure we made the grounds crew's day by being so sketchy about burying poor little LaFawndahh Condoleezza. Good luck w/ Cella!

Anonymous said...

I'm all for your plan...but make sure that Cella is really dead and not just dying before you bury her. Wouldn't want her to have the same fate as Joe Pesci in Casino. :)

Cait Ratch said...

I wish readers wouldn't give you a hard time over the song discrepancy. WTF mates? We all knew what she meant.

luv yew, mean it.

Anonymous said...

I relate all too well to your fear of Cella dying while you're taking care of her. I dog sit for family friends whose dog is deaf and pushing 12 years old... I literally check to see if she's breathing sometimes because I'm petrified she's going to die. Worse yet, the couple treats this dog like their child so it would be like their first born dying in my hands. Hope she lives out the week!

Lindsay said...

Dog sitting terror: You haven't lived until you've been woken up at 2:45AM by the smell of explosive doggy diarrhea. That was me exactly one week ago today. I very nearly murdered a Golden Retriever last week -- but only after I talked my gag reflex into submission & used an entire can of Spot Shot and a roll and half of paper towels.

Also, my roommate has two parakeets. Well, had two parakeets. Hours after she left to go home for Christmas last year, Blue (he was the blue one..go figure) was dead at the bottom of his cage. Did I bury him in the flower bed under my window at 11AM on a Saturday, while wearing plaid pajama pants? Yes, oh yes. I did indeed.

Unknown said...


I had a dog (almost) die on me. I was dogsitting for friends when they went to Hawaii and the dog wouldn't eat and I was all oh its ok buddy, you miss the family, I'll make you people food. Didn't work, only bad things came from that, lots of cleaning doggy vomit and other messy bodily functions. Took him to the vet, poor guy had stage 4 cancer. It was the worst two weeks of my life, the family got home on a Sunday, he died that Monday. Awful, I feel your pain as I was petrified he was going to die on me. But Cella is strong she'll hold out til Becky gets back! Good luck!

(co-worker) Pam said...

RJ (we aren't allowed to call her Becky here) was supposed to leave you my name and number, too, Meg, in case the worst happened (as I have a car and will take the body to Virginia....). But yes, let's hope it doesn't happen on your watch. As much as I think B might want that to happen so she doesn't have to deal with it herself. (love ya, Rebels!)

Angie said...


That story is so hilarious is so many ways, I can't even begin to describe how hard I laughed when I read it and consequently whenever I thought about it the rest of this morning.

That's like the type of thing that would happen to Liz Lemon.

Angie said...

PS----Kudos on the Clarissa Explains It All reference Meg! I love a good CEIA reference early in the morning...best part of the post aside from Cella's adorable little face.

C. said...

In the somewhat same vain as Lee's story. A friend's cat died in the middle winter and the ground was mighty frozen. So instead of burying said cat, friend's mom placed kitty in a large shoe box, in a bag from an expensive store, placed said bag in the front seat, left all the doors unlocked and headed to the mall in hopes that someone would steal the dead cat body. True story.

Also I fear that one day my best friend/roommate's cat will die on me. This is the family cat that they have had since she was THREE. This cat is 21 years old. SO clearly would be legit if he died. But the thought of finding him dead is terrifying. And rather sad as I've grown quite fond of him and I've known him as long as I've known her.

And lastly the Body Farm. I watched a video on the Body Farm in Forensic Anthro, and seeing a body decompose on a giant screen in a lecture hall was close enough for me thanks. Perhaps you can get your hands on it.

Good luck with Cella. What a cutie!

EasyWayIn said...

Although I love the plan, what you can actually do is rather simple if the need arises. You call Cella's vet (let's just hope she doesn't die after 6pm...), break the news, a nice man in scrubs rings your bell with a very somber expression, asks to be directed to the body while looking down out of respect, he finds it, then hoists it over his shoulder, takes it to the vet, and they cremate. And Becky gets the bill.
Although I must tell you, the sight of the deceased pup being hoisted is probably one of the more tragic life experiences one can have. There is definite...deflation.
But I'm sure she'll make it for the rest of your stay!

Elliot Smilowitz said...

This post was an emotional rollercoaster.

Stephanie said...

HOLY FREAKING COW, Lee's comment had me almost peeing my pants laughing.

but before reading that comment it was "THE SILENT KITTY KILLER" ... Meg, your capitals often contain more hilarity than entire tv shows. I'm just saying. For some reason, that all caps sidenote had me chortling face down on my desk.

Brittan said...

i was listening to a song called firecracker RIGHT when you talked about your fish. i knew we were meant to be. (side note: i typed "bed" instead of "be" the first time. that changes things slightly.)

mrs. darling said...

wow. i am laughing so hard that i am sweating and had to apply baby powder to my pits so as not to soil my dress. true story.

i am going to need a weekly update on the status of cella hurst. because now i feel invested in her sweet little life.

and also, the step where you play Danny Boy on your colonial williamsburg fife...sheer perfection.

Anonymous said...


Katie said...

That dog is adorable. I really hope she sticks around for awhile. I have to say though that if I my dog were on death's door, I wouldn't take any trips. I stay with him so he was with his closest family at the end.

Good luck keeping Cella alive.

Anonymous said...

@LadyLinzee i can't believe i didn't realize that either.... it's still HaNgman to me. andthedogissupercute

Joan said...

In case you ever end up in Europe before your desire to see dead things is sated- I have one word for you.
the ones in paris are cool in that they literally build decorative retaining walls out of skulls and femurs, but the Palermo catacombs take the cake. apparently up until distressingly not hat long ago, you could elect to have your dead ass dressed up in your finest tuxedo and/or lace gloves and dress, stuffed with straw, and strapped to the wall. for tourists like me to walk around and gape at. somehow they manage to avoid the mushier aspects of death, but it's still dessicated dead guys in their sunday best, strapped to a wall. amazing/horrifying.

Kelsey said...

T.G.I. Cella? I'd like daily updates while you're dogsitting. She looks like such a sweetie.

Sarah said...

1. Anyone who can't understand the progression of co-bloggers is not a real reader.

2. I've been reading this blog for a long time. Is it just me thinking this, or does the idea of Meg not being able to attend a grandparent's funeral due to debilitating mono just seem kind of typical?

No shit, Meg. I'm pretty sure you're due to win the lottery or something because your luck so far: not awesome.

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