by BAD GIRL (Melodie Campbell)
So I wanted something tall dark and handsome, and what I got
was something short, blond and furry.
Actually, I was given the choice of having another kid or getting a dog
– and all parents will understand this immediately – I chose the dog. Delivery is faster, and you don’t have to
start saving for university.
Sunny is a Frankenpoodle, ergo, the sort of dog that Dr.
Frankenstein might have created. He is maybe
short for a horse, but not for a dog. We
call him a “giraffe in a dog suit.”
Unfortunately, he is eighteen months old and lacks
judgement. This means he retrieves
absolutely everything. Soggy, old
cigarette packages, other animal doo-doo, and his current favorite, old mouse
skulls. If I’m really lucky, he deposits
them right on my lap.
The other problem with water dogs is, of course, that they
love water. Happily, this makes them
easy to bathe (just run the bath, and they’ll jump in.) Sadly, they are not too discerning about what
they use as a bathtub.
Here’s what happened just the other day:
Me: Where’s the dog?
Me: You know…the
mutt, the mangy curr, your canine son and heir.
It’s too quiet in here. Where is
Him: I don’t
know. I just got out of the bathroom.
You didn’t leave the door open?
AND THE SEAT UP?
I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
According to the book, these dogs are quite easy to
train. This may be true compared to
training iguanas or dump trucks, but I think Sunny needs a lot of work. Witness yesterday at the park:
Me: COME Sunny! COME boy!
Clever boy. Come! COME HERE DAMMIT! Will someone get the damned dog off that
Pekinese…wait a minute. He’s
coming! He’s actually coming! Good Boy!
Good dog! Where’d he go? COME BACK, DAMMIT.
Yes, my dog thinks his name is Dammit.
Dogs also know that everything in life serves one of two
purposes. It’s either for playing with
or for eating. Sunny follows this rule
to the letter, testing all new objects for ‘playability.’ Squirrels respond to being barked at and
chased, by frantically running away.
This puts them in the play category.
Socks, on the other hand, don’t run away, so they’re for eating. Sunny’s first victim was a pink nylon doll
sock which disappeared one evening about suppertime, and found its way to his
other end shortly after noon the next day.
The next victim, I regret to say, is all my fault. I don’t know how he captured my pink bikini
undies, but I do know I’m not letting him out of the house until they show up
again. No way is he going to barf up my
panties in front of all the neighbours.
(“Oh look, dear! She shops at
Ever wonder how those lone abandoned socks find their way to
the side of the road? I bet you thought
they blew out of car windows.
writes funny books, like The Artful Goddaughter mob caper, available at Chapters
and all online retailers.