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Raising a Little Hellion – My Delinquent Roommate

December 2, 2014

It’s date night.  I’m cooking spaghetti.  I’ve already left work early and grabbed all that I need from the grocery store, snagged a bottle of red wine from the liquor store and have showered up.  Over text, I’m calm, composed and confident.  Outside of my phone, I’m running around without a shirt on screaming obscenities to no one.  I have a beautiful woman on her way over, and I’m frantically trying to vacuum pet hair off the floor and couches whilst firing up the stove and arranging all the ingredients for tonights meal.  With only moments before her arrival, the sauce can finally get started.  Just need to brown the meat.  The meat.  Oh God, where’s the meat..


Enter the fuzzy roommate.  He eats my remotes, poops on my floor, and whenever I’ve JUST gotten into bed without fail he has got to go outside.

Not to place all the blame on him, his antics can largely be blamed on his upbringing.  When he was merely 3 years of age, his adoptive mother moved out.  This put a slight strain on the conditioning of his manners, and instead of playing the roll of a strict owner, the two of us would commonly stay up way past his bedtime together living the bachelors dream – eating pizza and drinking beer.

As time progressed forward, his obedience retention began to collapse.  He began to make the transition from sleeping in his kennel to my bed, would beg more often for my food, and started refusing to get off the couch.  One time – on Valentines Day mind you – he had the indecency to throw up in my bed and just walk away.  Like he was disgusted by it.  The little jackass even had the gull to give me a look as if to say ‘bro, you gonna clean that up or what?’

I can’t say he’s all terrible though.  Granted his stubborn mannerisms, he has proven to learn methods that benefit him.  For instance, once I came home and he once again crapped on the floor.  Lucky for me, dogs are a pattern based species.  So when he does poop, I’ll know instantaneously when I walk in the house as it’s always positioned within stepping distance upon house entry.  Now, him and I both know that when he does this, I scream and he runs away.  So generally he tries not to do it.  This time though he must have really had to go.  He took what I would call ‘the decoy shit’ in his usual spot – at the back door – which was very small.  I saw it, muttered to myself, and cleaned it up.  What I didn’t realize was that he left a turd the size of an infant at the front door.  By the time I found it, he was already hiding in what I could only assume was the attic.  And although I kept putting food in his bowl and it kept disappearing, I didn’t see him for two days.

So anyway, what happened to the meat?  He did what any other dog of his capacity would do.  He pulled it out of the grocery bag, sliced it open with such precision using what I could only imagine was an exacto knife and ate my $10 worth of raw lean ground beef.  He then carefully placed the empty package into a seperate bag and put it beside the garbage can.  I threw it out MYSELF unknowingly while trying to clean the house in a mad dash.  I only realized all this after digging through the garbage and finding the bag with the empty meat package with the current date.  And back to the grocery store I went.

I realize now that I’ve raised him to be what he has become.  No one is to blame but myself.  So where do I go from here?  Well, I found refuge in taking the same course of action that any parent does when they have a delinquent child – simply have another.  And now I have a cat.  Now unfortunately for me, the dog has a bigger influence on the replacement child than I do. And even though I can’t prove it, I’m 99% sure he’s selling her drugs..


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