May 7, 2008

The Spaz

I don't have a dog. I have a spaz. She is the offspring of a spaz. I know this because her Father belonged to my parents. He was a Champagne colored toy poodle. He had issues. Serious issues. But he lived in a time before doggie psychology and Cesar Milan. He was doomed from the get go. My Mom would get so annoyed with him she would just let him roam the streets of the neighborhood. You could see him frolicking around the 'hood with his dopey smile. He wasn't fixed either. So, most of the time he was looking for some ass. Hot doggie ass, that is. Hence the dopey smile. One of his one night stands resulted in Sedona. My current spazoid. When I first laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. I was single with no kids, mind you. I was so smitten with her cuteness I would take her every where with me. I even wrapped her Christmas presents and had a special stocking for her. Yeah, I was retarded. And I had too much time on my hands. I let it slide that she had this shrill bark that would render you deaf upon returning home, and that she peed all over the house when you left her alone because she was mad.

Fast forward to 2001. My first son, the halfling, is born. She tolerates him and his crying. He wasn't mobile, so she could deal. But, the day he began crawling, grabbing, squealing, and chasing....he became her most hated enemy. Yes, my dog hates my child. She still does. The halfling loves to annoy her. He wakes up in the morning with an agenda of:
1. Annoy the dog any way he can think of.
2. Eat breakfast and tease the dog with all the food he WILL not share but will pretend he will share.
3. Pretend to get a treat and run around the house yelling, "Sedona! TREEEEAAAAT!" So that the spaz will follow him around. It makes him feel uber importante.
4. Yank the blanket she is laying on from underneath her. It doesn't matter that the blanket doesn't belong to him...he used it once, so in his mind it is his.
5. Yell to me that Sedona is "looking" at him meanly. I can assure you that she is, in fact, glaring at him thinking of all the ways she will poop in his room when he goes to school. Or possibly thinking of strangling him with her leash when he is sleeping.
6. Lather, rinse, repeat.

They HATE each other. So, when the fourthling came along and we brought him home from the hospital...the spaz gave us this look like we were the most evil people on the face of the Earth. She actually sighed when she looked at him in his little carseat. That sigh meant, "Goddammit humans, not another one. I am outnumbered now by these spawns of satan."

She is a senile dog. She barks at her shadow, barks at the ice maker making ice, barks at any little noise the house makes. She barks when she hears Tristan cough during the middle of the night or when he rolls over in his bed. Thank you, Captain Obvious! She barks when the dog next door barks. I hate her, but I love her. We have a collar for her that shocks her when she barks. It actually works quite well, but the dumb bitch figured out the exact level of bark she can get away with...without the collar shocking her.

She could really use a lobotomy or some xanax stat.

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