This is not a joke. This is a fucking emergency. I'd call 911 but I don't have fucking thumbs. The goddamn iPhones my parents just bought operate on body heat, and guess what? Apparently dog paw nails don't produce any heat. I used to live a pretty charmed life. In bed around 9:30 every night. Up at 6:00 a.m. Uninterrupted, more or less. Everyone loved Scout. "Oh Scout, aren't you a handsome sonuvabitch?". I was left alone most of the sunshine hours to sleep in various places I enjoy sleeping around the condo. Occasionally I'd chew something up to keeps things interesting, see what kind of hilarious interaction would occur between my parents when they came home and tried to decide whose over-thought method of dealing with a chewed US magazine was less traumatizing for an animal that can't speak English. You can say that pretty much everything was coming up Scout. Then about 84 dumps ago (if you are trying to put this into Roman Calendar human terms, think 1 human day = 3 dog dumps, so we're looking at about 28 human days) mom and dad come waltzing the fuck home like it was Armistice Day from whereabouts unknown, carrying this basket with some stinky-assed little humanoid in it. Or at least I think it was a human. The scent spectrum was in the human family, but it was about 1/25 the size of most of them. It was also wrinkly as all hell, has little to no fur, and is about as fun as a trip to Higgins Animal Clinic for my yearly kennel cough vaccine (Which I'm over fucking due for as we speak. I guess no one cares if the Scoutmeister gets canine TB this year). They were standing around with these stupid-assed grins on their face like I was supposed to be impressed by this fucking useless gas bag. It handed me a toy lion immediately, so I feigned that I gave a fuck and retreated to the bedroom to chew this lion and ponder my next move. Needless to say I turned away from the chess board, and when I turned back I was left with my king and one pawn, while the opposition was sitting on a full strength of knights, bishops and their royalty. I have made an honorable effort to play with this thing, but to no avail. From what I've observed its entire repertoire of talents includes: Screaming; Sleeping; Chewing mom's boobs; and Fucking Screaming. Let me tell you what would happen if I even thought about chewing mom's boobs. I mean seriously, bring something to the goddamn table. And why are we trashing the fucking environment all for the sake of hiding this thing's dumps? I'll save serious time and landfill real estate by cluing mom and dad in on this: Wait for it to scream, pick it up, take it outside, and let it shit in the tree-lawn like everyone else. This isn't rocket-science. I haven't had a good night's sleep since this little nightmare showed up. I am 100% serious when I say that if someone is looking for a 2 year old male goldendoodle, my fucking kennel is packed. I can shake, high-five, lay down, and I haven't shit in the house for ages. I'll even go to a white trash family and eat expired BilJac at this point if it gets me the hell out of here.
Poor Scouty. I remained shocked no one in this house has been bitten since Zoey arrived.
ReplyDelete