So it turns out that my pal S' new puppy, Mojo, who, as you will recall, came from my friend D's dog Cookiebob and her mesalliance with a miniature dachshund who belongs to the crazy lady next door to D up in Bat Cave, is a beer drinkin' dog par excellence. By which I mean, the dog is a lush and thus will fit right in at all our parties. S hosted a little get together on her back porch last night and Mojo kept knocking over beer bottles and lapping up the result. It took us a while to realize that he was doing it on purpose. When he started trotting off with cigarette packs in his little mouth we realized that the dog had a problem and that PETA would probably be after us forthwith. He's not a quiet, mellow drunk either: he got all rambunctious and started running in circles and trying to chew our shoes off our feet until K had to hold him out at arms length for a while.
Neither of my dogs have any interest whatsoever in drinking beer. Pity - it might mellow them out a bit. The dog fence is almost completely done and Django immediately scouted out the places where it isn't done and took off. Of course he's so dumb that he just runs wildly around to the front of the house and wiggles his ass all around like he does to be let in the front door, so it's not too bad. Tomorrow morning Django is going to the clinic. All you male blog readers had better sit down and cross your legs now - yup, he's going to have his balls cut off. (Say this at a party and watch all the guys cross their legs nervously. It never fails.) Hopefully this will calm some of his wandering and destructive tendencies - the little fuck had my reading glasses in his mouth last night and I'm tired of living in a house full of dog confetti.
Addendum: I went home for lunch and to let the dogs out. In the three hours since I had last seen Django, he had eaten (and shredded, and tossed all over the den:)
2 pairs of shoes - my flip flops and my sneakers
1 pillow - a nice one that I've had a long time
1 entire spindle of blank DVDs
1 small wooden box of rocks and crystals and, inexplicably, magnetic poetry
1 gourd bowl, perhaps my favorite gourd bowl that I ever made, that was up on a shelf.
He had started on a trash bag of wrapping paper but fortunately hadn't gotten that far into it. Now he's tied up again outside while I ponder, yet again, either giving a false name at the spay/neuter clinic tomorrow and just never picking him up or putting him on Craigslist as free to good home or dog torturing laboratory, whichever calls first. The neutering had better work some miracles or that dog is history.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment