Shaken Puppy Syndrome

My dog was going to revenge-blog about me, but she can't because she has no thumbs. #EpicPawFail

I’ve blogged relentlessly about the very special stupid that is my dog, but I keep getting shocked by how grave a situation her lack of intelligence really is. This is an animal that not only barks every time you come in the house, but every time you come in the room. Like you weren’t just in the room and stepped out to get a sammich, then came back with said sammich. She has literally no idea who you are once you’ve been gone for four minutes. And by you, I actually mean me.

This dog has several hobbies, like crapping in the floor, knocking over garbage cans to get to the used Q-tips in the bottom, and…drum roll…eating our panties. Yes, this deranged whore-hound eats the crotch out of every pair of underwear she can get her stupid little teeth on. She doesn’t discriminate, either, going for male or female panties and those belonging to household members both young and old. One time, she was having such a county-fair-picnic with a pair of our youngest child’s Little Mermaid panties that she actually got her head through the leg hole and nearly cut off her own oxygen supply on the nirvana that is left over little girl farts. I wish she had gone ahead and strangled herself with them.

Oh, stop it. I’m not cruel. And what the hell, call PETA, I’ll look up their phone number for you. Even those guys wouldn’t put up with an animal who obviously was the dog equivalent of a crack baby for more than five minutes. This dog has fetal alcohol syndrome from its mother drinking puddles of antifreeze during her pregnancy. Maybe my dog’s the victim of Shaken Puppy Syndrome at the hands of a deranged British nanny. Maybe she’s just really, really genetically and irreversibly dumb.

Despite all the household poo and strewn-about garbage and the crotchless panties my family now accidentally wears, my biggest issue with this dog is the raging hyperactivity. She makes a fast-talking auctioneer look nearly comatose. She runs through the house screaming (well, barking, but it’s as annoying as if she were screaming), her two inch legs carrying her with surprising speed for a midget. She actually does these NASCAR-style laps of every room in the house, my office included, until finally I can’t stand it and I scream to no one in particular, “It would be awesome if this dog wasn’t doing that!”

So why do we keep her? Why, you ask, don’t I just drive her to the next county and drop her off on someone’s porch? Because I’ve figured it out: this dog is my canine Purgatory. I’m working off every animal-related sin ever committed, and I don’t just mean ones I may have accidentally done, like the opossums I may have inadvertently run over in the dark. I’m working off every sin-against-animals ever committed by anyone on the planet. Thanks a lot, Japanese whalers. My dog eats another pair of underwear for every humpback whale that gets boiled down for lamp oil, or whatever it is you do with a dead 10,000-pound mammal. And it’s a shame, too, those whales are supposed to be pretty smart.

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9 thoughts on “Shaken Puppy Syndrome

  1. -laughs-

    believe it or not, I have had your dog.
    I loved your dog though i really did.

    in that odd special “we love those who are just…odd in our lives” sorta love

    • She’s growing on me, but it’s a two-steps-forward-one-step-back kind of love. Two steps forward for every time she doesn’t bite our autistic child, despite being picked up by the hind leg. One step back for every time she drinks out of my coffee cup.

  2. OMG I haven’t laughed this hard in a while! lol And I swear my lab is somehow related to your dog… he has got to be! RAWRR Kitties!

  3. Love the post! Your dog sounds so much like my cat Jake, but at least Jake’s not like that all the time. He has his manic run-everywhere-nonstop nights and destroy-everything-in-sight days, and yes, he loves underwear, but fortunately he’s just a sniffing pervert, not a panties-eater. Your post gives me something to be thankful for LOL. And I figure, insanely wacky animals come in quite handy for writing blog posts. I even gave mine their own blog-within-a-blog ;-}

  4. Oh. My. God. I would swear your pet and my pet were separated at birth except mine is a cat. But seriously, same style, just different genes. He comes into my bedroom at 2am and meows because he wants a pat. Seriously, the cat wakes me up for a pat. He meows during the day if he wants a pat, too… then runs away when I bend down to give him one. He meows because it’s been raining all week and he wants it to stop. You know, cat = god, human = slave. Slave, make the rain stop. Isn’t that a god job? He comes into my baby’s bedroom and meows… just when I’ve spent hours getting her to sleep. And he has a penetrating voice.

    Sometimes I wish he did something terminal to himself as well. Why don’t I get rid of him? Because he’s afraid of every damn human on the planet…except me. And you’d have to be a pretty low person to kick a cat like that to the kerb. Maybe he has fetal alcohol syndrome too? He was a stray, we rescued him at 4 weeks. Who knows what happened before that?

  5. My dog likes shoes. And if I could bottle his farts we could sell them on the black market for biochemical warfare. He can reach every surface you could hide things because he’s taller than anyone in my house when he stands on his back legs (which he never does because he’s either so smart he realized he would be in big trouble if he did, or he’s too dumb to realize he can.) I love him…and I’ll bet you love your crazy dog too!

    • Love is an awfully strong word here, especially since I’m more of a dog-tolerator than a dog-lover to begin with. Let’s just say, I would never send her back. Even though that’s my husband’s vote.

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