Honest  Entertaining  Funny  

September 12th, 2006

I love my dog.

Don't get me wrong.  It isn't like I don't love God or my wife or my kids or my parents.  I love them alright.  They're swell.  It's just that my dog is super swell and, I mean... well... fuzzy and warm and so loyal and cute and loving and... I mean...well...

Plus, she's with me all the time.  I spend more time with her than I do with any human.  I suppose God is with me all the time and actually has been since before I was born.  I have to give that point to God.  But look, you can't see and you can't hug God.  I can hug my furry warm doggy whenever I want to.  And, well, I mean she's quite literally with me all the time.  She rides in the car with me, she sits on my feet when I eat, she lays on my lap when I watch TV she even whines outside the door when I'm in the crapper, so now for the peace of the family she comes into the bathroom with me when I have to do my business. 

That may be creepy.  I'm not sure.  It doesn't feel that creepy.  I mean, it's not like she sits there and watches me like I've seen some dogs do all big eyed and intensely staring as if they are watching you perform brain surgery or something.  No, she mostly just tries to figure out what the heck the bathtub is for, investigating the faucets, scratching at the edges trying to see if she can dig it up, shoving her little snout up the spigot till some water drips out, floods her nose makes her have a sneezing fit and shake her head like some little doggy fit.  But, then again... maybe it
                         IS creepy
How many people actually believe that they are the creepy ones and everyone else is normal.  So I always wonder about myself.  Am I really the creepy one?  Is that why I find so many other people's behavior to be so odd and completely bizarre so much of the time?  Because they're all normal and I'm not.  Where's that psychologist's phone number again?  Oh here it is.  No wait that's the phone number for my...  uh never mind.

Anyway, she sleeps with me too, when my wife isn't in bed that is.  My wife won't let her in the bedroom because, for some reason, when she, the dog that is, not my wife, jumps up into the bed like a happy little mountain goat or a puma or  something, all four legs at once, just sort of springing all of a sudden from the ground to our bed with amazing leaping ability that seems almost cat like, the first thing she does is lick herself for what seems like an eternity. 

Liiiiick.
    LIIIICK.  lick lick lick.
         L I C K.   
licklicklicklick.

It's as if she is trying to remove all the skin from her belly and her other business down there, with her tongue!  And it's loud too.  Not like sonic boom loud or car crash loud, but louder than you would expect.  This is a quiet and subdued sleeping chamber where my wife rests and relaxes in recumbent repose trying to get her beauty sleep.  Not that she needs any.  Trust me, my wife is quite the looker.  My dog's pretty too, but it's not the same.  Not the same at all.  Not even remotely the same.  Now that would be creepy.  Eaghhhh.  I need a brain shower now to wash that out.  Another point for my wife.  I guess a pretty big one too.  The point is, that it's really quiet in the bedroom at night and my wife is a VERY light sleeper, so it wakes her up, every single time.

"What the BLEEP is that dog's problem?  She's going to drive me insane with all that licking, licking, LICKING!  Get her out of here."

I mean, what is up with all the licking?  My wife doesn't lick herself like that when she comes to bed... hmm... that might actually be a loss of a point for my wife...   

Plus, the dog did crap on the bed once, and pee too.  She peed on top of the turd.  In the dog's defense the children had "accidentally" locked her in there one day for God knows how long.  But it's still pretty gross and my wife has never, ever crapped or peed in the bed.  Well other than when she was in labor delivering our first baby, but I guess I can ignore that for the sake of the argument.  My wife has never, ever crapped or peed in a bed I sleep in.  I guess that's another gigantically huge point for my wife.

Please, don't anybody tell her I let the dog into the bed when she's gone, but I do.  Actually, I think she secretly knows I let the dog in when she's gone, but let's not take any chances.  Mum's the word.  Ixney on ellingtay erhay outaby the ogday eepingslay in the edbay!  And, she's gone a lot; she has to get up for work at 3:30am!  Actually, that's a point for my wife's score card too.  My dog doesn't get up at 3:30am to drive an hour to work to help support the family.  Help support, heck, she makes most of the money.  Another point for my wife.

The thing is that the dog's with me all the time and we form attachments to things we spend that much time with, so I am attached to my doggy.  Very attached.  Plus, I think middle aged dudes like me and old dudes like my dad just love doggies big dogs, little dogs.  Us older guys just love dogs.

But my kids.  Why would I love my dog more than my kids.  Maybe I don't really.  And even if I do, even I recognize that it is a temporary condition brought about by trauma.  I mean I love them so much.  Long term, they have a much better future with me that the dog does.  Plus, God willing, they will be around a long time after the dog has gone to doggy dead land.  Whatever the heck that is.  And I would certainly go to daddy dead land to save the lives of any of my children without a moments hesitation.  It's just that right now...  let's just say...  How about I give you one word.  One word only.

Teenagers

The word that strikes instant fear into the hearts of any parents that have had them, like a cold dagger through a blobby lump of calves' liver.  Hence the trauma of which I spoke earlier.

Teenagers

The frightening B movie monsters of kiddom.  No parent wants them, but every parent has to get through them alive (parents and kids both making it alive that is) in order to get grandchildren, which is all parents have to look forward to after there kids pass all the way through the last golden year of love and harmony, the year of twelve.  I firmly believe that it is parents that first came to look upon the number thirteen as unlucky.  I mean, lets face it, by the time they are starting to shake their minds free of the encumbering webs and snares of teendom they are tottling off to college and becoming a huge financial drain that can desiccate a bank account with an appetite for money more voracious than even the IRS. 

Actually, I think that God plans it so that by the time they reach their zenith of teen lunacy parents are willing to pay fifty trillion dollars just to get them out of the house and return the domicile to some semblance of peace and normalcy.  Poverty, at that time, seemingly a small price to pay for an hour of total quiet with no whining fighting or angst in which to enjoy one's evening paper while looking forward to grandchildren.

And that is a big point for God.

My Doggy

I mean how could anybody ever resist her.  She's such a cute doggie!

this one she's a puppy.  I think this might be the very day I got her. 

In the future

retired pics

Two things.  When I retire pictures from this side bar, I will retire them to my Photo Gallery and they will hyperlink back to the original blogints.

sidebar

Eventually this whole site will be driven by active pages and SQL server.  At the earliest possible date this sidebar will include a calendar linked to blogints and a list of recent blogints.









This is a picture of my sleeping puppy.  She was the runt of the litter and even now she is about half the size of her litter mates.












I think that she wants to play with me here.  It looks as if she has just gone on a rampage and trashed the room.  I would love to blame it on the dog, but sadly the room always looks this way.  It's my fault really:  I am supposed to clean the room.














I tried to find a picture of her licking herself, and was amazed that I had none considering how much of her day is spent engaging in the sport.  Probably because it seems undignified to snap a shot when she has her hind legs wrapped around her face.

She really is a lot smaller than she should have been.  As I mentioned, her litter mates were all about the size of Golden Retrievers.  She's only 28 lbs, about the size of a Cocker Spaniel, but with much longer legs.


















She's gotten her head stuck in something here.  She didn't much like that.  I hate to admit it, but it was pretty funny.





















I looked on the internet for a picture of God, cause I have never taken one myself and there really aren't any.  So, I guess this cross will have to do.  I did these myself, by the way.  And it was before I got my hands on MS Expression Graphic Designer too.