Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Dogs and Stuff

-So I went to visit my parents last Sunday and was chilling out on the couch – look who joined me! Best. Dewlaps. Ever.

Speaking of the awesome dog, she did something 2 weeks ago that still kills me. Where to begin… OK, so my father is a bit of a workaholic. He’s also a very successful lawyer and a great dad, but he is known for being a bit of a scary dude in his office. I don’t know, maybe it was time he was brought down a peg – let’s call it karma.

Anyway it was a Saturday (again, 2 weeks ago), and my father went to the office to pick up some files – he was having a client over to our house for a meeting and needed them. Since he normally runs errands on Saturday mornings with the dog (both are creatures of habit), he decided to bring her with him. Sounds fine, right?

Yeah, it seemed fine. My father worked for a bit in his office, gathered the files he needed, and went to find the dog. She had been wandering, and had somehow found her way to the reception area – there was a motion sensor that kept beeping every time she passed the door; she found this fascinating. Grabbing a hold of her leash, they left.

Fast forward to Monday morning. My father was in court when he got an email from his office manager. Rather, the entire office got an email which simply said: Was anyone in the office over the weekend? Tentatively, my father replied that he had. (I say this is where he went wrong – always know the whole story before confessing to anything.)

Turns out I was right. Long story short, our dog has found the other large corner office, and decided that was a great place to take a massive dump. And my father had already admitted he was there! What was he thinking?! Rule #1: Never admit to being responsible for the pile of shit in someone's office! I mean, I've never been responsible for anything like that before (thank God), but even I know that!

I feel like this is a good time to point out that we’ve had this dog for over 6 months, and she’s never had an accident in the house. Yet for some reason A’s office (A is the other senior partner in the firm by the way) just brought out the animal in her. And wow…it had been sitting there all weekend.

Awesome, right? My father was understandably embarrassed. My mother and I were (and are) so amused by this that we still can’t talk about it without losing our shit. And the dog – well, does she look remorseful?

On the plus side, my parents took A and his wife out to dinner as an apology, and A finally got to meet our new puppy (which he’s been meaning to do anyway). So all's well that ends well. (Oh, and he admits that she’s very, very cute…and very, very big.)

God I love dogs.

-Man vs. Food is on tonight – I am shockingly obsessed with this show. Oh, and I think I’ve figured out why America has an obesity problem. It was a toughie, but I’m really, really smart.

-We’re celebrating Christine’s birthday this weekend – if I survive this it will be a miracle.

-There’s a creepy guy who lives in an apartment across the way from mine. At night he stands at his window and watches me. When I look across at him (glare actually – dude, you’re freaking me out!), he waves. I really, really want this to stop. How do I do that without pissing him off too much? After all, he does know where I live. (I realize new curtains would be a good option, but my cat…she destroys them like it’s her job.) Can I somehow suggest to this guy that he needs to get a fucking TV and stop making me his evening entertainment? Nicely, of course - the last thing I need is another psycho in my life.

Alright, back to work – I’m in meeting hell this week.


Bruce Paine said...

My parents just got a Dachshund, 6 weeks old, probably weighs a little over a pound. I have a theory that little dogs need big dog names and big dogs are funnier if they have little dog names. My parents have a sheep dog that, ironically enough, protects their flock of sheep. Boots is a little over 120 pounds and when she barks you can feel it in your chest. Boots can have a silly name because, after one bark, nobody is going to fuck with Boots. So, this little feller needed a good name. I thought it need to be a German name, so I offered up Max. (Named after renowned German political scientist, Max Weber) I was shot down. I then offered Werner (pronounced Verner, of course) to which everyone seemed more encouraged. I thought the matter was settled. I stopped past the house the other day to find my dad looking for something. It happens that when they let the little squirt out, the sheepdog would come in from the field and, not being certain what to do with such a small, helpless critter, picks the puppy up in her mouth and hides him in different spots. So I find dad looking and he yells,
"Patches!" I furrowed my brow.
"I though we were going to call him Werner?" I asked with trepidation. Dad shifted uncomfortably.
"Yeah, well, your mother though Patches was cuter," he said.
"Sir, you are going to be standing on the porch in your underwear yelling 'Patches'. Does that feel right to you?" Unable to look me in the eyes he replied,
"No, but I don't get to decide very many things."
"Your dog is a nancy and you never even gave him a chance," I said. People, give your dogs good names.

Redhead said...

I have many, many rules for naming dogs. Granted, Patches probably isn't one I would choose for a large or small dog, but I don't like using a normal first name either - like Max. Werner would have worked for me. Boots works too. And if you're going to use a first name, I say make it something like Dudley (because does anyone really know a Dudley)?

Our new dog was named already, so we didn't really have say in that. Still...yeah, at the end of the day it really doesn't matter. Because dogs are so damn cute!