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Bad Girl

My Dog thinks his name is Dammit

By Melodie Campbell
Saturday, September 20, 2014

(SNN) - So I wanted something tall dark and handsome, and what I got was something short, blond and furry. Actually, I was given the choice of having another kid or getting a dog – and all parents will understand this immediately – I chose the dog. Delivery is faster, and you don’t have to start saving for university.

Sunny is a Frankenpoodle, ergo, the sort of dog that Dr. Frankenstein might have created. He is maybe short for a horse, but not for a dog. We call him a “giraffe in a dog suit.”

Unfortunately, he is eighteen months old and lacks judgement. This means he retrieves absolutely everything. Soggy, old cigarette packages, other animal doo-doo, and his current favorite, old mouse skulls. If I’m really lucky, he deposits them right on my lap.

The other problem with water dogs is, of course, that they love water. Happily, this makes them easy to bathe (just run the bath, and they’ll jump in.) Sadly, they are not too discerning about what they use as a bathtub.

Here’s what happened just the other day:

Me: Where’s the dog?

Him: Huh?

Me: You know…the mutt, the mangy curr, your canine son and heir. It’s too quiet in here. Where is he?

Him: I don’t know. I just got out of the bathroom.

Me (horror-stricken): You didn’t leave the door open? AND THE SEAT UP?

I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

According to the book, these dogs are quite easy to train. This may be true compared to training iguanas or dump trucks, but I think Sunny needs a lot of work. Witness yesterday at the park:

Me: COME Sunny! COME boy! Clever boy. Come! COME HERE DAMMIT! Will someone get the damned dog off that Pekinese…wait a minute. He’s coming! He’s actually coming! Good Boy! Good dog! Where’d he go? COME BACK, DAMMIT.

Yes, my dog now thinks his name is Dammit.

Dogs also know that everything in life serves one of two purposes. It’s either for playing with or for eating. Sunny follows this rule to the letter, testing all new objects for ‘playability.’ Squirrels respond to being barked at and chased, by frantically running away. This puts them in the play category. Socks, on the other hand, don’t run away, so they’re for eating. Sunny’s first victim was a pink nylon doll sock which disappeared one evening about suppertime, and found its way to his other end shortly after noon the next day.

The next victim, I regret to say, is all my fault. I don’t know how he captured my pink bikini undies, but I do know I’m not letting him out of the house until they show up again. No way is he going to barf up my panties in front of all the neighbours. (“Oh look, dear! She shops at Walmart.”)

Ever wonder how those lone abandoned socks find their way to the side of the road? I bet you thought they blew out of car windows.

Melodie Campbell writes funny books, like The Artful Goddaughter mob caper, available at Chapters and all online retailers.

Image: Frankenpoodle, Some Rights Reserved by Carissa Bonham flickr photostream, The Sage nor this article endorsed, The original image can be found here.

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DISCLAIMER: The above article is provided for entertainment purposes only and the article, image or photograph held out as news is a parody or satirical and therefore faux in nature and does not reflect the actions, statements or events of real persons. The opinions, beliefs and viewpoints expressed by the authors of The Sage Satire and forum participants on this web site do not necessarily reflect the opinions, beliefs and viewpoints of the The Sage News Network or the official policies of the The Sage News.

 

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