I'm not going to write about my Lou-dog's regressions. I'm not going to write about how he feels the exquisite peace o' mind to defecate and urinate in my apartment. I'm not going to write about how, every time he leaves this room o' computation, I cringe and listen for A, a plopping noise or, B, a tinkling noise.I'm not going to write about how I have to put the garbage up on the stove, now, whenever I leave the homestead, for fear that I will come home to Trash Strewn. Nor am I going to write about how I automatically start itching whenever Louie clambers onto my Bed o' Love to share my slumber. I'm not going to write about how Louie lunges at people and squirrels as if he wants to tear them apart, as if he longs to digest their faces.
I'm not going to write about my boy's regressions and the way in which he growls low deep in his throat whenever anyone has the gall, the audacity, to either walk past my door or walk on the sidewalk outside my apartment. I'm also not going to write about how sometimes Lou feels it his duty to FUCKING HOWL from a previously-prone position, thus scaring the shit out of me and blasting my blood pressure to 240/198. (Zero to Howl in 4.7 seconds. Let's see a Mustang do that.)
I'm not going to write about his dog hairs and his endlessly-morose mug. I'm not going to write about how, when I go to give him a loving pat on the head, he cringes as if I have a fistful of Ginsu blades spinning like helicopter slices from my fingertips.
No.
I'm not going to write anything like that. But I will write this:
Lou-dog is my boy; Lou-dog is my compatriot; Lou-dog is my responsibility; and Lou-dog is angelic.
6 comments:
I'm not going to write about how I wonder what is causing Lou's regressions, perhaps he has a touch of seasonal affective disorder.
Lou is an angel 0:^)
I'm not going to write that I think you're right. I like the halo on the smiley. =)
I'm also not going to write that I completely blame myself. I'm not going to write that I should be doing oh-so much more with the kid. And I won't write that I need to lavish much more attention on The Canine.
As an ancillary note: Isn't it great how warm dogs are? And the way they smell just after they've woken up, kinda like a musty earthy odor?
So. I start playing with Louie, in an effort to make the kid happier, and he starts running crazily back and forth across the bedroom and he jumps up onto and off of the bed and I run and chase him going "Lee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee!" and he jumps up on the bed again...and flips my full ashtray onto my bedsheets. :( Now he's doing the Ginsu Crouch whenever I go to pet him.
That's it. I'll feed him and I'll take him Outside, but that is it. To me, he is dead.
(Then again, what the hell is an ashtray doing on the bed? Okay, Lou, you're back in my good graces, dude.)
Yeah, no ashtray on anything bouncy!
Does he like to retrieve if you throw a ball and ask for it back?
Don't worry, you'll all get squared away.
Mel--He retrieves it but he's not a fan of dropping it at my feet. We gotta work on that.
No ashtray on anything bouncy.
No ashtray on anything bouncy.
No ashtray on anything bouncy.
Got it! ;-)
No ashtray on anything bouncy.
No ashtray on anything bouncy.
I said I got it, dammit!
No ashtray on anything bouncy.
=(
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