Wednesday, August 4, 2010

No. 122 "Chew Chew Bones."

This is Cowboy. He is old, but very sweet, even though he still calls my black friends "coloreds." (I'm not sure where this came about, since he has been color blind since birth.) In his spare time he enjoys napping, yelling at me for waking him from naps and Australian rules football. Since he is old, he is not a fan of mountain biking or deep sea diving. His biggest fear is me slamming the door on him when I let him outside to pee, even though I only did that once when I was thirteen.

This is Buddy. He is a bitch. Let me rephrase. He is kindhearted. He is much younger than Cowboy, so he looks up to him like a grandfather who might leave him some money in his will. For fun he enjoys laying on expensive leather furniture until someone tells him to "get the fuck off," and staying as far away from water as possible. About a year ago I had him neutered, since I did not want him fathering any children seeing that he can not hold a job. His favorite band is Creed and he is a devout Christian.

The best part of my dogs' day, other than tearing up my personal property, is chew chew bone time. I'm not exactly sure where the term came about, since the biscuits I steal purchase for them are clearly labeled: Iams Dog Biscuits. Maybe its just because dogs tend to ignore consonants or the reason all dog names end in a vowel, otherwise when you call them they'd just run into walls all day. Even if my aforementioned dogs were trapped in an abandoned well somewhere in the outskirts of Idaho, they would find their way to the kitchen, Homeward Bound-style to devour their delicious chew chew bones.

I'm not exactly sure how their obsession with chew chew bones developed. It certainly isn't because of the taste. I've tried them myself, and they're far too salty, and from what I've read, extremely unhealthy.

I've found that this has a similar effect on humans as well; à la my dipshit buddies. If I were to text a few of my friends and include the words "beer" "chicks" or "ribs" I would attain a similar response. Every now and then I try this trick out, just to see if it works. I'll be sitting at home doing nothing and casually text a few of my slower-minded friends a single sentence. Whether it be: "dude, tons of hot chicks here" or "free ribs and beer at the vacant lot next to the cemetery." I bet at least seven of them would show up, panting and salivating, expecting "mad pussy" and "free shit." I may be wrong, but I do know that it will always work with my loving, although dim-witted dogs.

Since I'm an asshole, I enjoy fucking with my dogs. It gives me a certain sense of hegemony. I try not to hoodwink Cowboy, since he's really old and I drum up a feeling of abusing the elderly. But, I have no qualms duping my younger dog, Buddy. I'll say the magic word and immediately give Cowboy his treasured biscuit, then walk away as Buddy gives me his "but, I'm so adorable" face. After several minutes he switches gears and turns to the "I know where you sleep face," becomes angry and begins to rummage through my collection of crocodile skinned shoes.

I eventually go into the biscuit box and show him his prized bone. But, he has to earn it first through a series of calculated tests. Sit. Shake. Back flip. I will try to fake throw it across the room, but after several attempts he learns not to fall for the trick and gives me his "I may be a dog, but I'm not a fucking idiot" face.

He has many faces.

Ultimately, I'll grow tired of harassing my dog and throw him the chew chew bone. But, most times, due to my super-human strength I end up tossing it into the pool, which he is deathly afraid of. Then, solace sets in, and I end up cooking him a steak with all the fixin's.

Every now and then I'll go into the pantry to retrieve a couple bones for my dogs to appease them after I have done something to piss them off. Most of the time this is due to me sleeping past noon and forgetting to feed them, or accidentally stepping on their tails before putting in my contact lenses. I feel a need to redeem myself from this faux pas. But, intermittently when I reach in for the chew chew bones I realize that the box is empty and feel bad about creating all this ruckus for a nonexistent treat. At this point I have to give them a treat or else I'll feel like a sack of shit for the remainder of the day.

Now I must create a treat of my own to give them, since the boxed goods have run dry. Having never taken my dogs out for a gourmet meal or quizzed either on their dietary restrictions, I have to wing it. I know that dogs can't eat chocolate, so sweets are pretty much out of the question. I also have to worry about their health, so high cholesterol foods are a no-go. And both dogs openly mock vegetarians, so that's leaves me with little options.

Finally, I just scrounge up a bowl of cheese, graham crackers and leftover piaya, then serve it to them à la mode. That way I can get through the rest of my day not worrying about my dogs diminishing respect for their owner, or gossiping about me while I'm out fraternizing with concubines.

If I've learned one thing in my convivial but otherwise aberrant life, it is that dogs and humans are quite analogous. Sure, there are a handful of delightful differences, and my dogs lack the ability to text due to their contempt for the English language. But, the picture remains the same.

Fucking with people and/or dogs is fun.

No comments:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...