I repeat: I. Like. My. Dog. I also understand that she is a dog. She is not people. I have seen her eat her own puke. I have watched her growl at her own tail. I have been witness to her licking her arsehole for the better part of an hour.
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| This is not the face of a thing that knows things. This is the face of a creature that thinks a demon lives in the Dust Buster. |
Today I screamed at my TV because some c-word in a dog food commercial said "He's not a dog! He's our biggest boy!" Really? You paid someone to cut your biggest boy's balls off? You let your biggest boy shit on your neighbour's front lawn (it's ok because they're just renters on welfare and you really wish the owners hadn't let them move in there. You have a daughter, for Christ's sake) then sneak off because you don't want to risk getting dog shit under your new gel nails? It must suck to be your actual children. Someone should call some sort of society that will take them away from you before they wake up in a cage with their reproductive organs missing.
Ten minutes later, there was a commercial that referred to "pet parents." I'm a human person that feeds her and puts her shit in little black baggies which I'm piling into a mountain on my back step. (I call it Mount Kilimanshitpile. It's mostly frozen now, so now's the time to try to climb it.) What I am NOT is her parent. My dog's mother is dead. Her father tries to eat her face off any time she goes near him.
AND YET ANOTHER FUCKING DOG FOOD COMMERCIAL, which appeals to your dog's "wolf spirit." My dog weighs ten pounds, and if her leash gets snagged on a somewhat hard piece of snow sticking out of the ground, she's rendered immobile until I rescue her. She sleeps inside pillowcases because she has no hair on her belly and she would otherwise freeze to death. Once she hid under the couch because I sneezed too many times. I'm not sure you could call that a "wolf spirit." Is there a "field mouse spirit?" I think that's the one she has.
I don't have conversations with my dog. She seems to sort of understand certain words if she hears them enough times, but I'm not sure she's grasped full sentences yet. I'm hoping that one day we will be able to discuss the latest real estate developments, but right now mostly our conversations involve me saying "get the fuck out of the garbage" and her swallowing the yellow end of a used Q-Tip before I can get it away from her.
I don't let my dog sit on my lap when I drive, because she is a terrible driver. Seriously. She hit and killed a guy, just like Laura Bush did.
I don't buy Christmas presents for my dog. At first, that was because I thought she might be Jewish. I thought she might be Jewish because she'd never told me she wasn't, and I didn't want to risk offending her. Then I saw her eat a bacon treat, so now I don't buy her Christmas present because she's a dog.
I don't buy my dog expensive food that will appeal to her wolf spirit. I buy my dog whatever dog food is on sale, the same way that I buy myself whatever people food is on sale.
These things don't mean I don't like my dog. What these things DO mean is that I sometimes have to explain to people that I like my dog. Because apparently, in the eyes of some 'pet parents' and the companies that make dog food, by not treating my dog like a tiny person that thinks the mailman comes every day to kill her and just happens to be afraid of her own farts, I am a bad human.
A majority of people are assholes and I don't like them. I like my dog. Which is why I treat her like a fucking dog.
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