#37

I HATE DOGS

I hate dogs. I know that’s a dangerous statement. A lot of people will probably stop reading this post right here and now. Those people usually like their dogs better than their children. They grieve for weeks when the pet passes ((pets don’t “die”). They cry huge fat wailing tears and sound as if they have incurable stomach aches. 

Let me clarify;  i don’t hate dogs per se- i just hate being their master and having to care for them. I really do. I feel like i’m too often being interrupted by the needs and wants of the dog. I’m hungry, I deserve a treat, pet me, let me lick any and all your body parts, and most of all, oh please please please....Walk Me!

I wouldn’t even mind the walking so much if we could just start walking and keep walking but nooooooo. He has to stop again and again, sniff about and then piss on top of a previously walked dogs piss. And why does he wait to pick his shit spot until he sees a house with an open front door. He knows I forgot the pick-up bag!

It’s the responsibilities that come with parenting a dog that I resent because it really interferes with my narcissism. And the weird thing is through no wish of my own i have cared for 5 different dogs in my life, though I cared not too terribly much. 

Besides the fact that they are expensive to keep alive, especially if they get ill or lose a leg or require rattlesnake bite antidote, they require too much attention and actual work. It’s the walking I don’t really care for.  I’m not a walker. I used to enjoy running when I still had knees but i rarely walked anywhere. i like my bike. 

My current doggie, little Nugget settles for nothing less than one walk per day. If he doesn’t get it he informs you of his displeasure by pissing, puking and shitting in several different places, preferring carpeted areas if he can get to one. This is one of the ways in which he controls and trains me. That is why i have to laugh when a dog owner refers to himself as the dog’s Master. 

My kids worked on me for a couple years; I kept saying, “We’ll get a dog when I”M ready to have one”, knowing full well that after the dog honeymoon wore off, the boys would be gone and I’d be the dogs dad. He showed up cute enough; 4 years old and a mix between Shitzu and Poodle which makes him a Poozu or a Shitpoo. I go with the latter. 

He looks just like an Ewok out of Star Wars and I tried to have him answer to Yoda but he wasn’t buying. A a matter of fact he doesn’t seem to respond to even his own given name. I think this is because he knows if he starts responding to words at all, he might be responsible for following my instructions. That ain’t never going to happen. I did learn one power word which almost always works to get him to do whatever you want him to do. That word is “treat”. When he hears that word, he begins to spin in a tight circle and will continue to until I throw up so I must give him a treat pretty quickly. He can walk upright as well and when we first got him upon returning home he would jump right up onto your arms, chest high!  Now that he’s 8 he’s not quite as energetic as he used to be and probably is a couple pounds over fighting weight. 

I think he may have been abandoned because of the overloaded reaction he has to sighting anyone coming in the front door after being gone for say...20 minutes. It’s as if he’d been alone without food or water for days and days.  At any rate, he is a small, cute, affectionate little guy; not big on the great outdoors but will fight to reside on your lap every chance he gets. 

Just how well has Nugget trained me? 

I learned early on that he loved to sit in your lap more than anything else including treats. When I’d sit down, before I even came to a complete halt, he was there-20 pounds of hurtling fur and feet directed perfectly into the center of my crotch. This gave rise to the term of endearment I now refer to him by, none other than Crotch Rocket. He was persistent, belligerent and lightening fast, so much so that I learned to cover my crotch with my left hand each time i sat down whether  couch, chair, bed whatever.

I got so good at this protective maneuver that it became an unconscious habit I employ now whether I am with the dog or not. I get looks at times for this behavior. Sitting down in a booth at Dennys for instance can elicit a slight repulsion in the eyes of my attending waitress. Still, she has to pretend that I’m not a self molester and fake smile at me to assure an adequate tip. 

I ask myself sometimes, why the left and not the right hand as my protective shield? After all, I am right handed. Still I have yet to access an answer to that question so I wish I’d stop asking myself questions of this sort.. I remember Lawrence Ferlengetti calling questions of this type “Unfair Arguments with Existence”. I’m trying to quit (asking questions-not protecting my nuts) but have not as of yet, found a 12 step program that deals with those of us addicted hopelessly to wanting to know the reason for every god- damned thing that ever happens or happened on this poor beaten and bewildered planet of ours. 

What I’d really like is to have a cat, just one cat. Cat’s are no bother. They wash and clean themselves. They shit and piss in the same defined area forever. They walk over and gently with grace arrange themselves painlessly onto your lap and then they purr and appear to go to sleep. When you have to get up they don’t mind being lifted and placed elsewhere. They don’t bark or freak out when someone comes to the door and when a bird injures itself after crashing into your spotlessly clean window, they get rid of it for you without being asked. 

Do I like cats? Not really. But if I had to have a living animal as a companion I would choose a cat. They are not purr-fect either but they are more entertaining then a goldfish  swimming in a tight circle dying slowly of fungal infection.