Or…Why I Want to Murder the Dog.
As I write, literally, as I write, some incredibly obnoxious dog is barking, barking, barking. The dog’s barks echo through the neighborhood, through my skull, through the last thread of my patience. I think the dog is done barking and I will relax. And then the goddamned thing starts up again.
This is the dog:
This is my dog. Blogosphere, meet Cassidy. Cassidy, meet the blogosphere. No, no, you don’t need to bark, they’re our friends. Cassidy, quiet down, sweetie. Cassidy, really. Cassidy, quiet! Cassidy, shut the fuck up!
The only thing more offensive than the dog barking her mindless little head off at all hours of the day and night (fortunately only when she’s outside the house or when the doorbell rings) is Alex yelling, “Cassidy, shut up!” at her over and over. I’m particularly sensitive to this at night. I can’t seem to convince Alex that people would not rather hear him yell obscenities at the dog than hear the dog.
And the thing about the dog is that she is a very nice dog–diaper eating aside. The last thing you want to come home to is a chewed-up used diaper all over the floor. Oh wait, really the last thing you want to come home to is that chewed-up diaper, and big chunks of regurgitated chewed-up used diaper.
But I digress. I believe I was about to say something nice about her. Hmmm. Oh, yes: She is really good with the kids. She will literally let them use her as a stepstool without objecting. She’s fun to play with. She’s pretty. She is extremely loyal and protective of all of us. Because she eats nearly anything off the floor I don’t have to sweep as much. She is a beautiful, kind living creature.
But, oh my God, there are days when I just want to rip her vocal cords out.