How could you possibly punish this dog?
Everytime I think I'm out...they pull me back in! Fucking Mooks are at it again; if it's not one thing it another.
For instance: they know I don't like to be alone. It is their fucking job in life to keep me company and to keep me amused. Apparently they don't see it that way as they permit themselves to go swanning off to wherever two losers swan off too (probably sex in the alleys or blowjobs in public bathrooms). So what do they do? They stick me in the kitchen with all the doors closed and put out this tortured, stunk-up rag of a blanket to keep me warm. Well, sorry—that won't fucking do. So I pissed on it—my first act of obvious displeasure in over two weeks (there are hundreds of acts of covert displeasure—like pissing in well-hidden places where it dries 'til there is nothing but a smell driving them nuts). Mook B came home and didn't notice; moreover, he had bought me a little mattress of my own that had "lunch" written all over it; so I set to work removing seams. While I was toiling away, Mook A came home and damned if he didn't notice the wet blanket. He came for me...very deliberately and calmly and it scared the crap out of me, as it is wont to do, and I hid under a desk. No go. He got me by the scruff of the neck (again, not my preferred mode of travel), took me to the blanket and roared. Then he planted me on the new mattress and for the next hour I was not allowed to move from it.
You think that's all? Nope. A has a way of ripping you a new asshole that is so subtle that you don't notice it 'til you realize you're shitting from your foot or someplace. After the detention I get the silent treatment and when I try to make some kind of peace I hear, "Get away from me you awful animal." Then, an hour or so later, all is more or less back to normal except I see myself sucking up to them like a fucking crackwhore in need of a fix. I hate myself that way.
Then there are the joggers, skateboarders and rollerbladers; I'm not allowed to attack them! Indeed, yesterday I was on the long leash and two skaters were coming up behind us on the bike path and I just did what I would do: go to clothesline the pair of them with my leash. They both jammed on the brakes and A yanked back my leash so fast I went flying. He grabbed me into his arms, and shrieked his fucking fag-breath in my face, "Next time you do anything like that I'm going to rip your fucking idiot head off!" Then he was all solicitous with the skaters who were fine except Missy had maybe pulled a muscle or some such sissy thing. All I could think was, "If you can't handle hunter-animals, you little sow, stop making that noise with those fuckwad gadgets on your feet."
Since then whenever there are 'boarders, 'bladers or joggers, my leash is so short I am practically hanging and no volume or number of little gagging and choking sounds will give me relief 'til the "danger" has passed. What kind of a topsy-turvy world are we fucking living in when a self-respecting hunting dog can't go after logical prey? How soon before joggers, 'bladers and 'boarders are allowed to get married and create offspring?
Meanwhile, Ginger is being a real twat and there is no way I'm wasting anymore time on that stuck-up bitch. The other day she wouldn't even let me play with her rubber ball! Yeah, I know it was her fucking toy I had in my mouth when she went ballistic, but if my toy was in her mouth I'd be nothing but grateful. So fuck her.
The world is full of bitches.
No comments:
Post a Comment