alright boys and girls...let me tell you a story...well, we all know that every story i tell is ass-fartingly long, so i'll give you the cliffsnotes, or the annotated version, if you will.
the short of it is this: my dad got a new job, and so he now spends his days at work instead of at home where he can take care of the dog. now, since my new job only gives me three shifts a week and the fat ol' scc doesn't get that i need money, i end up speding my tuesday and wednesday afternoons with this:
his real name is laddie...but i call him bob...or cheeriobeard...or lately, "the bag of fur that causes me to go postal"
now you're probably asking why this is a big deal. he's a dog and he kinda looks cute. shouldn't really require that much work.
au contraire, my friends, au contraire.
the bob is 15 years old. he has not one, but four bad knees. he has cataracts, so he can't see and he can't hear. he has to be carried EVERYWHERE. my parents always told me i had to be nice to him because he's like my brother.
well, um, i love my parents and i appreciate all that officer dad and the jane have done for me, but i think that if i really had a brother, we would be all equally spoiled. not the furry one over the two humans.
now some of you might think i'm harsh...but a scheduled time to feed the bob saltines and shredded cheddar cheese is a bit extreme (for the record, it's at 3 o'clock, to be followed by his actual feeding at 4:30...and heaven help us if all we have is colby jack.)
normally, i love bob. he smells. he's a mop. but he has his own unique charm, much like myself, i would like to think (except i would like to think my carefully honed hygiene routines have allowed me to smell waaaay more pleasant.) but this week, he's been the tick on my kneecap. i can make the schedule work...no prob....you want saltines at 3 -cool. it's just the barking. and it's not just normal dog barking. i would like to think that it's the pio version of a dog bark...high-pitched with a squeak at the end and NEVERENDING.
which brings me to my point...for the last two days that i have been home alone with him, the bob has barked incessantly for three hours straight. listening to that yip for three hours a day can drive the sanest woman insane, so one can only imagine the level of bonkers that this is bringing me to. i'm now convinced he has his hearing back because he's quiet when i come back from being out, and starts barking after i've been walking around the house for at least five minutes. see? that bastard can totally hear.
now, this wouldn't be a problem if this didn't keep me from everything i either need to get done or hold dear. for instance, not only does it prohibit me from concentrating on my reading, which i can easily relocate to do, but it keeps me from napping...in the basement...which used to be my space. i couldn't hear a blinking thing down there until now. you can mess with my homework...you can even mess with my eating habits..but heaven help you if you ruin my nap. the spoiled brat part of me is ready to ask my dad to take him to work with him, but as a 23 year old college graduate, i feel that's a bit of a ridiculous request. (even though he did take over my room...it's true. i have pictures.)
anywho, while i want to own a dog at some point in my life(perhaps a terrier of some sort named Henry...or even cooler, a piglet, but if you don't know that plan, that's for another day.) i just didn't think i would involuntary dog sitter. not really what i planned for my first summer as a quasi-adult. while i love my dog, i just really wish he weren't so damn annoying. i think we're having a talk tomorrow. i mean...look at the picture...he's cute, so there's gotta be hope for rehabilitation...
