Generally speaking, I am a good person. I am a rock star of a mom, I run my own successful business, I volunteer my time, effort and money to multiple charities and I make it a general rule to treat others even better than I expect to be treated. Mother Teresa I am not; but one thing I have done is adopt rescued animals. My current headcount stands at three cats and two dogs.
I treat these animals better than I treat myself. Exercise at the doggie park? Check. Specially cooked meals? Check, check. (Semi)Regular visits to the beauty shop??? Absolutely.
I don’t expect much from my cats. They are, after all, cats. And every time they look at me I sense their inexplicable and constant state of disappointment. Whatever. I can handle it. No judgment.
I do, however, expect slightly more from my dogs. They are supposed to be the “good ones”. Like a child who is your favorite but you could never admit that you have a favorite, because that is somehow just wrong, but everybody knows that everybody has a favorite child just nobody talks about it?? Yep. Just like that.
Dogs are supposed to be smart, intuitive, loving, loyal and protective.
Supposed to be.
Mine is not.
Mine is just an asshole.
Here are some of her more impressive traits:
- Can dig a 10” hole in the backyard in 45 seconds flat.
- Chooses not to come when called.
- Only appears mildly interested if I say her nickname “Treat!”
- Likes to steal my underwear out of the laundry hamper and then eat it.
- Goes apeshit if she even thinks that you are thinking about giving her a bite of human food.
- Borderline obese, probably from all those bites of human food I give her.
- Treats my postman like a convicted puppy serial killer.
- Refuses to do anything remotely resembling exercise.
- Occasionally escapes from the house and proceeds to chase moving cars, specifically aiming for their tires.
Might have suicidal tendencies.
- Barks at nothing. For no reason. Most of the day.
I have a completely fenced in backyard (primarily purchased especially for this particular little fucker). However, when I have to open the front door I’m forced to slither out like some sort of anorexic stealth ninja to prevent her from running away like a guilty perp being chased by the cops. On the plus side, she is very, very cute . . . she’s just not so “smart”. Her name is “Snowy”. I might have to re-name her “Paris Hilton”.
So . . . free to a good home: One dipshit dog.
E-mail me directly if interested.