A few signs you’re not ready for a giant dog

The littleness of my dog makes me live in fear every time we go outside. I fear hawks mistaking her for a rabbit. I fear her getting her tiny dog legs stuck in a sewer grate. But most of all, I fear giant dogs thinking she’s a chew toy.

sophia

 

Now, I didn’t get a little dog because I have a preference for little dogs. I got a little dog because I don’t have the time, energy and resources to care for a big dog. As a responsible pet owner, I think the first step to that responsibility is recognizing your limitations when it comes to buying a pet.

And there are a fuckton of people out there who don’t take that first step.

So, in my ongoing crusade to help everyone do everything better all of the time, here are some signs that you can’t handle a big dog.

You live in a one bedroom apartment

If your dog takes up more than 25% of the square footage of your living space, you’ve gone too big. No joke people, that’s like putting a yacht into a swimming pool. Of course shit is going to get ripped up! The solution is not to compact his space even further by leaving him on your fucking porch all day while you’re at work. That’s just a dick move, not just to the dog, but to the neighbor next door who has to listen to him whimper all day.

I can’t handle that. I’m one of those assholes who cries at those Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercials.

The dog outweighs you by 100 pounds or more

I have a rule that I never date or own anything capable of kicking my ass in a fight. That’s a good rule as it saves me from regularly getting my ass kicked.

What can I say? I’m very annoying.

This morning I saw a tiny Asian woman trying to walk something that looked like a hybrid between a sheepdog and a moose. Only it didn’t look like she was walking him. It looked like the dog was flying a kite shaped like a small Asian woman. This bitch was flapping in the breeze, clinging to the leash for dear life as her dog dragged her down the street, running faster than the top speed of your average Prius.

This is not a good way to show your pet who the alpha is.

You’ve never owned anything that actually requires training

If you’re upgrading from a turtle to a Leonberger, you’re doing it wrong.

Look, I’m going to openly admit that my little dog, she’s not trained. Sure, she’s housebroken, but she ignores anything I tell her to do, begs for food, watches me pee, and regularly tries to have sex with my pillow.

But that’s no big deal because she weighs 9 pounds. Even though plan A failed, and she’s completely untrainable, I still have a plan B.

Pick her up.

That’s it. All I have to do to get her to stop doing what she’s doing is pick her up. This strategy works whether she’s tossing licentious looks at my body pillow, all the way to if I think she’s about to bite someone.

You can’t do that with a big dog.

So when we’re at the dog park, and you, for some inexplicable reason, have decided to let your untrained 170 pound Siberian Fucking Moosehound run wild, all your assurances in the world that “he doesn’t always listen, but he’s friendly!” mean shit to me when he’s sizing up my Sophia like she’s a god damn chew toy.

In short, if your big dog does not immediately stop what it’s doing when you say the words ‘sit’ or ‘stay’ it is your responsibility to society to keep them away from other people (and adorable little dogs — especially mine) until they do.

Recognize the fact that there have been 325 dog related fatalities in the US in the last ten years, and 350,000 people visit emergency rooms for dog bites annually. My point is that the vast majority of those owners whose dog attacked someone probably thought their dog was friendly too.

But then it wasn’t.

If you must have a dog, but don’t have even a remote understanding of training, go small. You never hear of a five pound Yorkie ripping someone’s throat out.  Sure, they might eat their owner’s face after they’re already dead, but there’s a difference.

But if you don’t want to go little, and choose to have a large dog, or a vicious breed, you have a responsibility to society to ensure that dog is trained. That is all there is to it.

I guess my point to this whole post is dogs aren’t god damn impulse buys. They’re not a keychain you can pick up at the convenience store and then return when they don’t suit you. They’re a major adjustment and that adjustment goes up with every single pound the dog gains. So before you head on out and get a giant dog, consider your limitations. Because that kind of responsibility weighs on you.

Literally.

 

 

 

 

It’s a Dog’s Life

Generally, envy isn’t something I feel, except for when I’m dealing with one being on this entire planet who I would choose to be if given the opportunity.

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That would be my dog. My dog spends her days napping, eating and being told how cute she is. No cleaning, no work, no cookingno responsibility. So this weekend, I decided to try it, to see if the grass really was greener.

Our weekend starts on Saturday around noon. We roll out of the bed and go outside for our morning walk. After briefly chasing some squirrels, which we have no idea what to do with if we catch, we return home and lay down on the couch. No hair or tooth brushing. No coffee. Just an immediate midmorning nap.

Around 2 in the afternoon, we wake up and switch couches. We take a mid-afternoon nap as we are very exhausted the earlier nap.

At about 4 pm, a person pulls into our parking lot. We both immediately race to the door, sure that they are drug dealers, terrorist, burglars or all three. We glare at the individual walking past our apartment, growling under out breath until he is completely out of sight.

I’ve never seen an elderly man with a walker move so fast!

We returned to the couch, but this time, choose to lay upside down. Constant vigilance is exhausting. We go back to sleep.

We awake and realize we are hungry. My son is eating something. We both stare at him until he feeds us too.

Back to sleep.

We wake up on Sunday. Sophia looks no worse for wear, but my hair has tangled into a knot in the back of my head that no tool made by man can separate. I follow Sophia’s morning grooming routine, that mainly involves scratching my butt for 30 minutes straight. I try to lay back down on the couch, but can not get into a comfortable position.

I follow Sophia’s lead and walk in a circle 3 times before laying back down again. Despite the fact that my position has not changed, I have to admit that it feels much better.

After another 4 hour nap, I give up on my dog’s life. Sure, all the napping is great, but it gets boring after awhile. Plus, barking at every neighbor who pulls into my complex is starting to get weird. In addition, in all the time I’ve been laying on the couch no one has petted me or told me how cute I am once!

Sophia is much better at this than I am.

My Dog Is Giving Me a Bladder Infection

Oh God, the SEO hits I’m going to get from that title alone…

Before all your minds wander to the filthiest place possible, let me explain. See, I am what I like to call ‘bathroom phobic’. It has nothing to do with the germs. I’m cool with germs. I can handle those. It has a lot more to do with what happens when someone walks in while I’m using the bathroom.

Everything stops.

This might seems a little strange, because I can write an entire blog about it and have no problem at all. In fact, I regularly admit things far more private. However, there is just something so off-putting about someone hearing me go to the bathroom or even worse, seeing me do it.

I blame it on a very traumatic experience in the military when the restroom I walked into had no walls. It was just a bunch of holes on a bench, all grouped together. Seriously, I’m not making this up. Just one giant room with a bunch of holes to pee in…and girls were actually squatting over them. I felt like I had walked into a very organized zoo.

I guess we can see why I didn’t reenlist.

Anyway, for years, I’ve been working with it. I wait until the stalls at work are completely deserted before I go to the bathroom. I have my own bathroom at home. I hold it when I’m in public unless the bathroom is one single stall. For the most part, it was working quite nicely.

Then I got a dog.

The view from my toilet

Ever since I got Sophia, the same scene has played out every time I get up to use the restroom.

Me: Well, while this commercial break is coming on I guess I’ll just…

Sophia: (Ears perking up) Where you going? Can I come? I’m just gonna follow you anyway. Maybe sit on the rug you keep in front of the bathtub and stare you dead in the eye the whole time your in there. Hey, why are you closing the door?

Me: Sophia, I don’t need your help. Just go play with your fucking stuffed squirrel or something.

Sophia (scratching at the door): What are you doing in there? Can I help? (scratch, scratch, scratch)  Oh my god, you’ve left forever! I have no sense of time and whenever you leave the room, I’m certain your never coming back.  Maybe if I sniff at the door while I scratch it.

Me: I can’t go with you listening!! Go away!!

Sophia: I can hear you, but I can’t see you (scratch, scratch, scratch). Oh god, I’m going to starve to death. I was always afraid this would happen. I knew you were the flaky type when you got me at the shelter. I just always assumed that you’d go before me and I could live by eating your corpse while I waited for the medical examiner to haul you away. (scratch, scratch, scratch) Can you hear me in there? I’m freaking out!

Me: Aw, fuck it. (flush)

So yeah, its been a difficult year. At the same time, I love my dog, even if she is a pee watching pervert, so getting rid of her is not an option. I guess I’m going to have to live with it.

Does anyone know a doctor who would install a catheter on a voluntary basis?

Breaking the Law

Finally, I am a bad ass fugitive. A criminal. I’m going to have to change my name, go on the run, hideout in sleazy bars in Liberty City. I’ll have to hustle other criminals in poker and pool, and get into knife fights when they find out I’ve only been pretending to be bad at the game.

I actually really am bad at both games, but am assuming that my skills suddenly increased as soon as I started my criminal lifestyle.  I also know how to play spades now.

How did I gain my new criminal mastermind status, you might ask? Well, it’s all because of one bitch.

Literally.

My 9 Pound Menace 2 Society

Sophia, as pictured above, is my pet fugitive partner in crime. We got her a few months ago, but never registered her with the office.  Now, I have received a 7 day notice to vacate , indicating that rebels like me and my canine friend are persona non grata.

Of course, my other option is registering her and paying a fine. But that just seems like so much paperwork.

So I’ve opted for the life of crime. There’s no stopping us now. Now that I’ve decided the rules don’t apply, all bets are off. It won’t be long before me and Sophia shaking down drug cartel and killing people with impunity. I’ve even begun looking on the internet for instructions on how to make a pipe bomb. So far, I’ve only been able to find how to make a pipe organ, so I think I might make one of those instead.

I might be offline for awhile, at least until I hook up with a network of high tech hackers in a bid to take over the nuclear missile silos of the US government. After that, I promise to update my blog and twitter account regularly.