DOA: Dog Owners Anonymous

I keep saying that I don’t want to turn into those weirdo couples that talk only about their goddamn dog. I mean, for crying out loud, I had at least 20 different dogs when I was growing up on the farm in Colorado and I never *sob* talk about my mom *sob* running them over every goldang time we turned around *sob sob sob*

But I’ve never had a house dog.

What sadistic, hateful, vengeful, life hating deity one day said, “You know what? I think dogs might be kind of OK with living inside- especially because they only need to whizz-n-pooh twice a day! Now, that’s a good dog!”

I HATE that deity.

NO DOG EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD EVER HAD TO WHIZZ-N-POOH ONLY TWICE A DAY!

Our dog- the wondiferous, spledoriforastic Crack Weasel-Der Weiner-Shitz-All (AKA Sparky) does whatever the flying fuck he wants and pees in the house at least 3 times a day.

Now, I won’t go into the theories about house training because it causes friction between the wife and myself.

I think she’s encouraging him to do his biz on the ever increasing shit papers that she lays down each night and morning, whereas I think we need to be putting less and less headlines from the Belfast Telegraph on the floor of our kitchen (no matter how full of shit/slant/hate the headlines might be it’s still only a piece of pooh paper to the Spark Master) and focusing more on getting the little turd scruffler to scratch on the door to let us know he’s about to blow his anus capacity.

We’ll get there in the end.

Cuz Sparky’s a genius.

He’ll train us good.

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3 Comments

  1. Sorry Wayne. This makes me laugh. This is why I never took home the various homeless dogs that came through the vet clinic that I worked at. Instead I ended up with 3 cats. They shit in the house but at least they have a place to do it. But then, my couch, clothes and my bed are constantly covered with cat hair. And the house smells of cat shit. I often wonder why no one ever comes to visit me.

  2. I spend a good portion of my day sweeping dog hair off my keyboard at work and rubbing my pant legs with damp towels to get muddy paw prints off my jeans. But it’s a small price to pay for unconditional love.

  3. Put him in a crate!


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