Posts Tagged ‘ the dog ’

I Hate Me, part 322,917

Carrie has been away for the week visiting her sister, which just leaves me and the Duchess (as we’ve been calling Lucy). So, I was by myself and painting the town beige which mainly consisted of being at home watching the Mets crawl to the end of another season. The dog for her part just stared at the window with the saddest face an animal could make (yes, that includes the Canadian Grief Fox) waiting for my wife to come home and giving me the dog equivalent look of “mom doesn’t do it that way”. Everything went pretty well until this morning’s walk. I always bring a bag to pick up the Duchess’s “leavings” and since my pockets are usually filled with random pieces of paper there’s enough for any extra’s that she’s willing to leave. Unfortunately today she was, I don’t know any better way to say it, a shitting machine. I used up the bag and all the pocket paper in the first fifteen minutes. I tried to get to where they might be big trees with big leaves for a natural shit collection fix but I wasn’t so lucky. A friend of mine gave me a couple of old baseball cards last night. Two 1980 cards, Bill Caudill and Mick Kelleher (both Cubs) and as I was reduced to using those two cards to scoop up more shit. We finally got about a block from home and Lucy did this circle around the stagecoach thing she does before she goes, and gave me a “hey, I don’t like this either” look and went one last time. There was nothing left to use, so I ended up using a dollar bill (In some circles this might be considered a political statement). So I walked the rest of the way home gingerly holding shit covered baseball cards and a dollar bill, hoping I wouldn’t see anybody I knew.

a card like this made the ultimate sacrifice

a card like this made the ultimate sacrifice

I Hate Me, part 266,901

The dog (Lucy, aka Baby Dog Duvalier) needed to go out for a walk. Carrie who usually takes her out was busy so I took her out. We were about a block away and I realized that I didn’t bring a bag for her “leavings”. I was praying that we could get through the walk without incident, which is dumb because that’s one of the main reasons for a walk. She finally went. I couldn’t just leave it, that would be hypocritical of me ( A few times while standing on a soapbox, I might have said “People not cleaning up their dogs shit is one of the signs of society collapsing!”). So I had to clean it up. The dog was looking at me “C’mon, I’m done. Let’s go…what, do you wanna shit too?”. Now, my filing system for personal papers consists mainly of jamming small bits of paper into my pockets and then throwing them out when I do laundry. The largest piece of paper I could find had the phone number of guy that Jacks (the record store where I work) was supposed to buy a lot of records from (around 10,000). I had already lost this guys number once, so I wrote it giant sized on a full sized piece of paper. I was looking around for a big leaf to clean up after Lucy. A horrifying variation on stuffed grape leaves, but no big leaves. The only thing I could use was the paper with the phone number on it. I cleaned it up and when I got home had the unenviable task of scraping dogshit off of the paper and recopying it.

[Carrie, my wife would like to mention that she doesn’t agree with the characterization of the dog in my blogs. She says that Lucy is the cutest, most wonderful dog in the history of dogs]

I Hate Me, part 106,227

Since I’ve been on this diet I’ve been cooking a lot of my own food. Usually on a day off I’ll cook a bunch of dinners and freeze them. This of course brings the dog around. Lucy is normally just running around the house on her own like some fur covered Anna Wintour, tearing apart any clothing that she could reach. Today she was on a shoe kick, “ call these boots!….GRRRR!…cardboard boxes have more style for your fat stupid feet….grrrrrr!……..IDIOTSgrrrrrrr!” I was cooking some chicken and when she got a whiff of it, she immediately was in the kitchen, staring at me with unblinking eyes. I usually keep some dog treats nearby for when this happens and I threw her a dog biscuit. She looked at it and then back to me, “Aarrfaarrfarff…what the fuck is this?! Some dry fucking cracker bullshit!!? arfarfarffuckthat! “ So being a mental defective, I start talking to her like she’s a little person in fur who can reason and isn’t a dick. “I eat this, it’s good,mmmmm” and I mimed eating a dog biscuit (yes, I have eaten dog biscuits on drunken dares when I was young). She’s just staring, “arfarfarfarf! what am I a jerk?!…Am I blind?!….You didn’t eat that shit…..arfarfarfarf!!!” So I Took another biscuit and put it in the pan I was cooking the chicken in (I had taken the chicken out) and heated it up in some chicken grease and then gave it to her*, “arfarfarfarf…this isn’t that same goddamned biscuit is it?!….mmmm…it kind of smells like people food…..alright….ARFARFARF!…you asshole, you tricked me…arfarfarfarfarfarf….arfarfarfarf!” I gave in and cut her a piece of my chicken. Placated, she went back to critiquing my boots.

*(I would also like to take this opportunity to say, yes I know she’s a dog and yes I know it’s bad for her behavior to kow-tow to her, and I’m a shitty weak willed dog owner. I know this)

a fur covered Anna Wintour

I Hate Me, Part 209,917

Well, i didn’t think I’d have any time to write but this pretty much just happened. Since we got back from tour I’ve been running around like crazy. End of tour accounting, merch from when I was away, going back to work, my band had a show and most importantly spending time with Carrie. This morning was a bit crazy, Carrie wasn’t feeling good and was going into work late. I had to run to the bank and the post office, do merch and go to work. I had a pile of merch to mail out in the dining room. Now for all the shit I write about the dog, she’s pretty well housebroken, but accidents do happen. I stepped in one of those accidents in the dining room. It was dark, the floor was brown, the shit was brown. I didn’t see it. Fuuuck! I took off my shoe to see the damage. As I was maneuvering to get my one shoe off I stepped in it with the other shoe. Fuuuccck!FUUUCCKKK! As I moved to get out of the shit with my other foot, I stepped in it in my sock. NOOOO! YOU FUCKIN LITTLE SHITTTT! FUCKKKK! I jumped back and the insole of the first shoe (I’m gellin’ like Stellan…….Skarsgard (If he signs as a spokesperson, i want a cut)) fell into the shit.FUCKFUCKFUCKFUUUUCCKKKNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! This took less than thirty seconds. the final damage: 2 shoes with shit on them, 1 sock (and the foot under it) with shit on it, and a ruined insole. I really wanted to start drinking but it was 8:30 in the morning.