The Gift That Our Pets Give..

     I hate the animal shelter.  It really is a depressing place.  Loud, stinky, and it always makes me feel like I’m walking the Green Mile.  There are always what my wife calls the ‘keepers’ and the ‘hopers’. (She’s been volunteering there for years)  Keepers are the dogs you know won’t be there long;  they’re either cute, or good breeds.  Dogs you know someone is going to take home.  Hopers, well… it’s pretty self explanatory.  You just hope.

     I’ve only owned two dogs in my life.  My parents had a dog while I was growing up; an annoying, grumpy little Schnauzer Poodle mix named Mazel who was basically a little four legged asshole.  We tolerated each other, and not much more.

     My first dog was a mastiff named Sassy.  She was everything a dog should be, and as much a part of our family as the kids.  She died of kidney complications a few months ago; one of the few times in my adult life that I’ve actually shed tears.  But that’s another story; this is about her eventual replacement.  Which is why we started at the animal shelter.

     We have three kids, and all of them had been hinting for months that we should get a new dog.  I had found ways to stave them off up to that point, but the truth is, I wanted a new dog, too.  I missed Sassy; I’m of the opinion that a good dog is damn near as important as a good wife.  (Bit of poetic license there, but you get the drift) 

     I walked up and down the aisle a number of times, but nothing really caught my eye.  There was a great saint Bernard, but the Mrs.  vetoed that from the word go.  (As she should have… the thought of cleaning up dinosaur size poop wasn’t all that appealing)  There was one dag she kept going back to, though.  I knew at this point we were gonna have problems.

     The dog was, to begin with, ugly.  Not cool ugly, like our Mastiff had been, but retarded ugly.  She was mostly black lab, but with legs like a damn wiener dog.  And she was fat. The thing looked like a pot belly pig.  And this was one of those dogs it takes you all of 3 seconds to realize is dumber than rocks.  Tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, and that vacant Odie-esque look in her eyes.  At this point, I decided a new dog was a bad idea.  But it was already too late;  Unannounced to me, my wife had picked ‘Angel’ out the day before.  Angel was, she told me, a wonderfully friendly dog who was just not cute enough to draw an owner, and was scheduled to be put to sleep that night.  I was almost sold, wuss that I am, but not quite.  But I then realized the kids were a part of the conspiracy….  My daughter turned on the puppy dog eyes, my son started offering negotiations, and my three year old informed me that he loved angel.  Knowing when I’m beat, I went to get the car.

     Angel almost didn’t make it through her first night in our home.  Things went fairly well at first; right up to the moment she walked in the front door.  All I can say is that I’ve never seen anything like it.  You know how dogs are;  they have to smell everything, preferably as hastily as possible.  The problem was that while she was trying to smell everywhere at once, she was simultaneously trying to urinate everywhere at once.  It was as if her back half had a mind of its own; it would go one direction while the front half went another.  And it went on for an eternity!  Remember that scene in Austin Powers where he pees forever?  Same damn thing.  The dog’s bladder had to be the size of my car’s gas tank.

     Eventually, the urinating tapered off.  I turned toward the door, knowing I was about to make a return trip to the shelter per my wife’s request, and found instead that she was laughing.  Now I was stuck not only with a retarded pig/ dog, but one who was apparently a urine factory who’s retardation was  contagious.  And my wife had been infected.

     But this nightmare of a dog was just getting started.  Over the next several hours, she terrorized the cats, ate the garbage, chewed one of my son’s $90 shoes, and demonstrated a proclivity towards barking at inanimate objects.  (You don’t want to know).  And then the humping started.

     Bear in mind, this is a fully grown fixed female dog.  It started, oddly enough, with my three year old.  “Don’t worry, it’s normal” my wife told me.  but even she was stumped when I responded  “Is that normal?”  As Angel proceeded to hump my refrigerator.  The victim list quickly grew;  dining room chair, television (which she almost knocked over), and finally, my wife.  The dog was apparently a complete pervert.

     In short, we appeared to have brought home the worst dog on the history of, well… dogs.  I used her leash to keep her stationary, attaching her to a leg of the love seat.  Having worn herself out, she didn’t complain; just went to sleep.  We agreed at this point that she would go back in the morning.

     Fast forward a couple of hours.  Wife and kids are in bed, I’m settling down with a beer to watch some Sportscenter.  The dog was just looking at me… almost enough to make me uncomfortable.  And then it happened… the dog farted.  Out loud.  And it was loud.  But what came next was perhaps the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life.  Angel looked at her butt, growled… and bit it.  Her own ass.  Rather hard apparently, because she yelped.  And then looked at her butt again with what, for the life of me, looked like anger.  And growled again.

     I may never have laughed so hard in my life.  No exaggeration, I spilled my beer and fell off of the couch.  For the first time, I actually knew what it meant to ‘bray’ laughter.  And the dog just looked at me.  Did that thing they do where they cock their head at a 45 degree angle and look perplexed.  And damned if, once I was done, she didn’t do it again.  And I started all over.  By the fourth time, it occurred to me what was happening.  The dog saw that what she was doing was making me happy.  And so, in spite of the fact that it obviously hurt like hell, she kept doing it.

     That earned her a reprieve from the leash, and lo and behold, I started explaining to this retarded pig of a dog what the house rules were.  Almost 10 minutes this went on before it occurred to me that I was talking to the dog.  Wonderful.  I had caught the retarded from her, too.

    The rest, as they say, is history.  That first day was simply excitement over finding a new home, we think.  Angel is now as much a part of our home as Sassy was.  She is, it turns out, rather stupid.  And a real pervert; while the other bad things went away, she still enjoys a random quick hump on whatever’s closest from time to time.  But she’s also dedicated, and loves the hell out of us all.  And it really all began with a dog fart.  Or maybe we did all catch her retardation.  Either way, we’re happy… and it works.  Stupid dog.