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A Rather Unorthodox Foe

August 28, 2013

At some point in everyones life, we come across another whom we just plain don’t get along with.  This can happen more with some people, and consequently less with others.  However, we’ve all had that one special someone we just can’t even look at without envisioning them falling out of a window and into the back of a garbage truck.  This is my story..

Picture this.  The year is 2005, and I’m living the Canadian dream – single guy paying low rent in his parents basement.  (Complete with mini-fridge, might I add).  My mother comes home and brings her new friend over, Chloe.  Her friend is young, and I’ll admit pretty cute, but she’s a total bitch.  Without even saying hello, Chloe runs past me – into MY room – and immediately starts eating my Subway sandwich.  When I yell out at her, she turns to me and without skipping a beat, bites my hand.  From that moment, I knew that dog had to go.

I know what you’re thinking, ‘Camaaan it’s just a dog! Right?‘  Wrong.  This stupid four legged rug has been nothing but a problem for me from day one.  The Subway incident wasn’t the first occurence of her attacking my food.  And the slanderous list only grows from there.

Whenever I go over to visit, the dog will not stop barking at me until I give it the death stare and ground stomp, to which it pisses on the floor and I get blamed for it.  In fact, this dog gets blamed for nothing, and when I scream at the dog to shut up after 5 minutes of consecutive barking, I get told to calm down.

There’s been times when the dog just won’t stop scratching to be let out, and since I was nearest to the door (and wanted to boot it out of the house anyway) I went to tap the door open with my foot and she bit me.

Whenever I’m over to visit because I miss my family so much and oh, look, food! (classic bachelor move), the dog will virtually scream until it gets what it wants from the table.  And I mean literally scream.  I’m telling you, this stupid animal isn’t your average run-of-the-mill poodle/bichon cross, it’s like they took all the parts from lesser creatures and sewed them together to form this rabid, shit-disturbing rat from hell.

Ironically, I had to google how to spell ‘bichon dog’, and it came back with ‘Did you mean “Beaten Dog?”.  I may not support beating an animal, but Google gets a golf clap for that one.

Seriously, it’s not only the constant barking this little dinner plate does ALL DAY EVERY DAY that gets me the most, it’s the fact that my mother babys it all the time!  The dog can do virtually no wrong in her eyes, and when she IS actually mad at it, she speaks to it like its a one year old baby and gives it a time out in my brothers room.  WOW!  Not even a kennel?!  Seriously, when my dog is in trouble I’m screaming at it like I’m getting amped for a bar fight and lock him up like a degenerate teen caught robbing the liquor mart.

There was one time though that I did come out on top.  Once when I still lived with the parents, I was eating a chili dog in my room and had a bottle of Franks Red hot sauce.  The dog had obviously been watching from a distance, because when I had accidentally knocked the bottle off my desk and it shattered on the floor, she wasted no time in bolting over and lapping up the floor of broken glass and sauce in a spicy medley of suicide.  My first reaction was ‘shit!’ and to knock the dog away from it, but my hatred for the dog quickly reminded me that I shouldn’t mess with Divine Intervention.  The dog took two solid licks of the sauce before she stood straight up, and with paws covered in Franks, jumped onto and began rolling around my bed.  She must have rubbed at least a bit of sauce in her eye, because she kept rubbing them and she danced with her saucy paws all over my white sheet.  Before I could even do anything, my mom came bolting into my room and there I  am standing above my sauce covered sheets with a broken bottle of Franks behind me, and the dog playing dead.  Of course, my mom flipped out and I was in a ton of trouble, as she left carrying the dog over her shoulder.  Now, call it the sauce, but I swear that stupid mutt winked at me grinning as she was carried upstairs.  What a dick move.

Look, believe it or not, I am actually an animal lover.  I have 3 cats and a dog at home, get along with even the craziest of dogs that I meet in passing, and don’t like deer hunting because I think it’s mean.  At the end of the day, I don’t dislike my moms dog.  I have an adult, preoccupied hate for it.  The only reason why it’s still alive, is because the love my mom has for it.  I swear she loves it more than any individual son she has.  Maybe its because that dog is the only girl in a house of all boys, but whatever the case, she loves it alot.  My brother even told me when the dog finally dies, he’s going to have it stuffed and put servo motors in the joints and control it with a remote just so my mom can go about her day and still have that little asshole walking around her kitchen.

OK, so I realize I’ve gone a little overboard here.  Is it weird to hate a dog?  No.  Is it strange how strongly I feel about this little hell-hound?  Probably.  All I can say is that I love my mother enough to fight the urge of throwing her precious dog out through the bay window into the hot tub and closing the lid.  What kind of son would I be?  I fight all urges because I really do love my mother. And that the dog is already 12.


  1. Stacey permalink

    I hate my moms and my sisters dogs. but really i hate my mom and my sister because they allowed and trained the dogs to be such shitty dogs…

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