I love your dog.
The way he rests his golden muzzle on my knee as we sit and chat over a cup of coffee is so endearing.
The way his fur sheds in a perfect concentric circle around my ankles (I have always wanted a pair of Uggs) is considerate.
And the way he makes a bee-line for my crotch as soon as you leave the room? A sure sign of brilliance.
Oh, hi, there, boy.
Look! A ball! Over there. Gogetitboy! Gogetityougoodboyyougooddoggogetit!
Hey, boy, that’s a little too intimate for our first get-together.
Whoa, you’re a persistent bugger, aren’t you?
Okay fine, to the left, that’s good, that’s good. Now, to the right…You’ve done this before, haven’t you boy?
Really, I do love dogs.
But I should be restricted to other people’s dogs. I should be forced to wear a house arrest anklet that goes off near PetCo.
Having a dog in my own house brings out my complete and utter incompetence. I have no idea what to do with an animal living in my house. I feel like I’m living with a ticking shitting time bomb. I sit and stare at the animal as it licks its genitals.
Look at you. You are an animal. You are in my house. You are an animal in my house licking your genitals. This is so weird. Wait, stop being a freak! Everyone has a dog. Why are you such a weirdo? Only a weirdo can’t have a dog licking its genitals in her home.
When we decided to get a dog for the kids I could hear the great unspoken collective voice of all my friends and family: “She can barely wipe her own ass, how is she going to have a dog?”
But my husband and I talked it over at length. Why should the whole family be deprived of a dog’s love because I am Dogis Incompetentis? I promised to be engaged, patient, involved, Not A Quitter of the Family Pet.
First we went to the local animal shelter to check out the dogs. After a short visit we were told that it was not wise to rescue a dog if you have young children in the house. I think they said something like, “We can’t guarantee that Fang won’t tear out your 2 year old’s jugular because 2 year olds look and smell like big juicy hotdogs!”
Then we tried to rescue a pug from a local Portland pug rescue organization. We filled out a 5-page application.
No, we haven’t left a box of kittens by the road.
No, we haven’t had any sparring chickens in the backyard.
No, we aren’t criminals, perverts, lacto-ovo-vegetarians, supporters of wheat grass movements, growers of peaches, pubic hair or viewers of Glee.
We went to a rescue event and showed off our pug interaction skills. We even went through the at-home interview with a prospective pug. But the interview was at 6 pm and every single one of our children melted down in succession because, well, it was 6 pm and they all wanted to pet the dog RIGHT NOW NO ME I WANT TO HOLD HIM! NOMEWHYDOESN’TTHEDOGLOVEMEWAHHHHHHHH. The childless pug interviewer was dismayed and deemed us unworthy of being able to handle a dog.
So we put out word in the pug community (oh, yes, there is a pug community) and found a breeder who was looking for a family with whom to place an older puppy. All it took were the words “potty trained,” “crate trained,” and “such a sweet, sweet boy!” Before I knew it we were on a family road trip in the Silver Bullet on the way up to the armpit of Washington to meet the pup.
As soon as we met the pug it was a done deal. He was so damn cute. The curly tail. The dear little snort. The kids were in love. My daughter said, “I’ve never felt so understood in my whole life, he just really gets me.”
The first few weeks were filled with puppy love. But then we realized that the dog, named Ozzie Jellyroll Crunch, was pretty much running the show. He was peeing all over the place, and finding interesting places to poop (indoors).
We started working with a trainer.
I recall her cocking her head and saying, “Wow, he really doesn’t seem to be motivated by any of my usual tricks!” (Subtext: This dog is an asshole) and, “He sure is stubborn!” (Subtext: And he’s stupid to boot!)
We’ve had Ozzie for about a year and I’ve come to the conclusion that he is:
1. A Sociopath: An Axis II personality disorder characterized by “…a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others that begins in childhood or early adolescence and continues into adulthood.”
—–>evident by his constant desire to urinate on my bed, on clean laundry and the carpet.
—–>evident by his obsessive need to chew up the children’s toys despite the gajillion dog toys and chewy bones at his disposal
2. An Anarchist: a person (or in this case dog) who promotes disorder or excites revolt against any established rule, law, or custom.
—–>evident by his insistence on chasing the cat
—–>evident by how many library books he has chewed up
—–>evident by his nose being firmly planted up the ass of any creature at his disposal (including cats and children)
So, when I snuggled into bed late last night and was met by the damp and pungent odor of dog pee on the comforter I silently cried You muthaFUCKING Dog! But I have pledged to Stay The Course of Canine Insanity so despite his diagnosable issues, I will stay the course
and hope my shrink will hook me up with a good pharmaceutical pacifier.