A NON-PUPPY'S PUPPY-LIKE TRANSGRESSIONS

How is it that a dog nearing his 3rd birthday (December 23rd) forgets things that he learned as a puppy? As in, one, don't chew stuff up and, two, don't poop in the apartment? I guess I'm not a very good 'blogger, because this post should have a lot of musings and theories here, but I think I have the answer: I, as his proud papa, just am not giving the kid enough attention. I wake up late, hurry him outside to pee and poop, and then dash off to work for eight hours. From the time I'm gone to the time I get back, it's probably closer to nine-and-a-half hours.

In the meantime, what? Lou is left to his own devices. This shit--no pun intended never happened when I was working a more-normal 8:00-4:30. But when I shifted to 2:00-10:30, the shit hit the fan. Metaphorically-speaking, of course. I have no fan.

Added to the I-gotta-poop-here's-a-good-place mentality is the occurence of the "Death of the Pillow." I came home from work recently and Lou was laying on the couch with his tail wagging. It quickly sagged between his legs when I noticed that, no, it hadn't snowed while I was at work and, no, a Colombian druglord had not broken in and left his stash of primo coke on the front room's floor. No, nope, neither. Rather, what had happened was that Lou had torn my brown throw pillow to pieces. (I was kinda fond of it. I'd put it behind my head when I was laying on my back on the couch, and that made it easier to see the TV, which I hardly watch.

"Jesus Christ, Lou! What the fuck, man?!" I'd exclaimed.

"What the fuck" was that he'd been bored and alone and left to his own devices.

I used to cage the kid while I was gone. And, today, I considered doing that again, while I was taking him out after I got home from work. But then I came to my senses. No way in hell am I going to cage him ever again, the only exception being if a serviceworker for some company has to do some work in my place.

No, what I have to do is treat the kid with more respect. Respect meaning, I need to treat him more as a living, breathing being that get bored and that gets lonely. He's a generally quiet, well-behaved dog, so maybe that's why I've come to take him for granted, as in poop and pee on command, Lou and don't miss or get bored when I'm gone. (Oh, and also do my laundry and clean the baffroom, mmmkay?) No. That's not right. he's quiet, sure, but if I'd wanted a quiet, non-destroying dog, I could have gone to Toys-R-Us and bought a stuffed animal. Not only is he a highly-intelligent dog (or so it seems to me) but he's also a Pit Bull-Boxer mix and, ask anyone who has one, those dogs are highly-energetic, as well.

So, I'll get started on that "more-attention stuff" tomorrow. Just kidding. When I'm done typing this, the kid's gonna get at least a walk around the block. And, Jesus, Adam! Stop waking up right before you have to go to work! Get a life, dude!

Anyone have any interesting "Destroyer Dog" stories? I'd love to hear them....

(By the way, the smell of a cigarette burning down to its filter is surprisingly-like that of unwanted dog shit. Just noticed.)