Thursday, November 6, 2008

Dog Day

I hate my dog today. I know I should be ashamed to say it, I know I should feel like a horrible, inhumane person for saying it, but I don't care. I hate my dog today, and I think I made a big mistake getting a dog, and I wish someone would come and take my dog away. Okay, that last part is probably overstating, but I do want to strangle the little beast. He was so cute when he was little; two and a half pounds of snuggly goodness. And we were such good puppy owners; we kept things out of reach, we played with him all the time, it was lovely and nice. Now, he's hit puppy adolescence where all the training goes out the window. I tell him to sit, he looks at me with defiance. I tell him to go in his bed, he walks out of the room. I turn my back for two minutes, he's on the kitchen table licking syrup off a plate. He steels socks, he tortures the cat and steels his food. He wont leave my daughter's slippers alone so she either has to have cold feet or put her feet up on a chair while she's eating breakfast, and I spend all morning yelling at the dog. There are not words strong enough to express how sick and tired I am of saying, "Perry! Off!" "Perry! No!" and I'm sure my neighbors can hear me screaming at him. My screaming is supposed to startle him into dropping the sock, jumping down off the table, but he just keeps on doing what he's doing, and I'm screaming like a banshee.
He's been limping lately, I don't know why, so I haven't been walking him as much. I had been walking him almost two miles every morning, but I wanted to rest his little leg. So I walked him this morning in an attempt to quell his hyperactivity and bad behavior, and the first thing he did when we got home was steel a sock and run into the backyard with it. Its really hard to hold out a treat and act all sweet and nice, saying "drop it!" when you're blood is boiling. I'm not Andersen Cooper, I can't afford to be replacing socks once a week. Nor do I want to go broke buying the dog stuffed animals so he can rip them apart in five minutes. I have some booby traps set up so that the next time he feels like jumping on a table, he will be startled by loud clanging. I'll get him in line if it kills us both.
This dog is costing me a fortune. I knew he would have to be groomed, but I had no idea what grooming costs. I'm here to tell you, it costs a lot. He needs his hair cut every 10 weeks or so, and it costs almost as much as my hair cuts and I get my hair cut twice a year. There's the food, the vet, the shots, the license, etc. He should shit solid gold.
When I'm in a really bad mood like this, the universe always mocks me in some way. I always get a little sign that my bad mood is meaningless and stupid and I should just get over myself. Right now, that sign is coming in the form of a monkey in Leila's room that is laughing all on its own. It must be under something, or shorting out because every few seconds since I started writing is goes, "boing!HAHAHAHA!" Alright, I get it.
I'm hungry. I'm going to make some yummy breakfast and hold off on killing the dog for a little while.

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