Bad Dogs?

January 3, 2006 at 7:32 pm (Rant Goodness, The Enlightening Ones, WTF)

Last night’s blogging was difficult for me. It wasn’t difficult because of the subject matter (I’m sorry for all the “EW” reactions but some things just need to be said and no one in this house is listening). I had to make that post and the ones which will follow. It was really hard to blog last night because there was hours upon hours of screeching going on all afternoon and evening. It was all the same ear-splitting phrase, over and over and over.


So, what did the dogs do to incur everyone’s wrath? They snagged a 3 pound package of hamburger out of a grocery bag left on the floor for two hours, dragged it into H’sMa’s bedroom and had themselves a high-pro party.

Read that again.

MY dogs (they’re suddenly MY dogs when they misbehave) got screamed at by everyone but me for fucking HOURS because they took off with a package of meat that was left sitting ON THE DOG-DAMNED FLOOR. That’s right, it was on the floor for two hours, and three people busted THEIR chops for succumbing to the temptation that THE YELLING PEOPLE laid out for their doggie asses.

Why didn’t I put it away? Because when my back bitched about bending down to the floor to do exactly that, I got the shrill screaming treatment (I made the mistake of allowing a yelp out of my mouth when my leg wouldn’t hold me up, which makes it all my fault, right?). I had two people bitching that I’d even attempted to make sure people ate the food instead of the dogs. What would you do? Damned straight you’d leave it right where it lay.

I did too. I bit my tongue, left the bags right where they’d been left, and went back to killing things standing between me and my favorite dragon. Fuck ’em if one small yip offended them so much. Don’t leave shit in the floor and I won’t be yipping trying to clean it up.

Another half hour later, the shrieking started. “Where’s that hamburger?” “Zeke, you BAAAAD DOGGGGGGG!” “Dani, put that down NOW! Baaadddd DOGGGGGG!” “You two get NO LOVE from Daddy!” Eventually the dogs found that the only room in the house not full of insane noisy humans was the computer room, so I had two dogs looking at me, liquid eyes begging for a kind word. I knew better–if I’d said one word about it not being their fault I’d still be getting yelled at, and so would the dogs. I couldn’t just sit there and watch my Beagle shake like Michael J. Fox either–the whole thing would never have happened if that food had been put where it belonged.

I compromised. After all, the humans were too busy listening to themselves bitch at the top of their vocal ranges to hear two dogs being petted, scritched and loved on. I scritched, I petted, I used my softest voice to tell them it wasn’t their Dog-damned fault the higher life forms were too lazy to put groceries away and too proud to let anyone else do it. I let the dogs know that Daddy would get over this fucking snit before bedtime, or I’d be starting some screeching myself.

I know my dogs didn’t understand my words anymore than they understood the ones being hammered at them by everyone else. It did seem like the tone of my voice did calm them a little, but they looked at me so strangely every time I’d giggle over how mad my fiance and his mother got. I’d snicker. The dogs would eye me suspiciously, as if I were about to join the shriek party. I’d go back to scritching them and watch them relax until another giggle snuck out.

Yeah, I laughed to myself over how mad they were at the dogs, when in fact it was their own lazy damned fault that the dogs were able to reach the meat in the first place. I’m evil, vile, and likely going straight to Hell.

Scritch…scritch…pet…I can live with that.


1 Comment

  1. Whiplash Smile » Blog Archive » This week’s FOADT said,

    […] The constant reminders that us normal motherfuckers actually PUT AWAY the shit we buy, soon after bringing it in the door. We don’t leave it to be tripped over or for the fucking dogs to eat or piss on. When we happen to accidentally do things like that, we don’t ream out the poor dogs for doing what comes naturally. […]

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