I am NOT a jerk
by Timmie the dog
I don’t remember my mama, but this is not one of those pull-out-the-tissues sob stories. This is my story. The story of a big dog trapped in a little dog’s fur.
I remember the good old days when I was a free range pup. Living off the land and eating all the garbage I wanted. I can dream it now. The sky is blue and I’m running along a highway. Whoa… freak out! Here comes a strange dog! Whoops, look out for that car! My tummy hurts. What’s the sticky stuff in my fur? Well, maybe life wasn’t perfect, but I was free. Nobody told me what to do.
One fateful day, I was caught and sent to a foster home with other dogs. There was food, and I soon learned how easy it was to control pit bulls. My crazy-dog routine worked well with the passive brutes. By day two, I ran the house.
I thought I had it all figured out when, BAM, I was adopted. My world changed again. This time, there were rules. Not just dog rules, but human rules.
Do your business outside.
What? Why? Oh fine. If it’s such a big deal to you.
Don’t bother the cat.
So, that fuzzy, half-catatonic demon is called a cat? No problem. I kind of figured that rule out on my own. And I’m a big enough dog to admit that she scares me just a little bit.
Don’t act like a maniac.
This rule has always been hard for me. Frankly, it’s exciting to run around in circles, jump on everything, chew up stuff and yap my head off. Gets my heart pumping and lets all the dogs in the neighbourhood know how awesome I am.
Get a good education
Dog school was a breeze. I graduated at the top of my class. Okay, only one other dog showed up for grad, and he was still using puppy training pads. The rigors of academia weren’t really my thing. With so many humans around, I couldn’t make the other dogs do a dang thing I wanted, but every week there were less of them, and more treats for me. That was my plan all along. Need I say more?
No biting the humans.
This was number one on the humans’ list, but not so high on mine. How was I going to communicate if I couldn’t sink my teeth into soft pink skin? How could I tell them to move over on the couch, for example? Would they understand that I wanted another treat if I didn’t chomp someone’s ankle?
It’s been a steep learning curve but I’ve been forced to learn a few tricks. Wiggling and kicking wildly will make a tiny human move away. Presto, I have the chair to myself. Look mom, I didn’t use my teeth. When someone says BANG, falling to my side and remaining still will get me a cookie, every single time.
Now I am on the subject of cookies. I love cookies. Any kind. All kinds. Vegetables too. Veggies being chopped in the kitchen bring me running. And meat. Meat. Meat. Meat! I’ll be a very good boy if you’re a messy cook.
I miss my “bits”, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the cone of shame. That’s on you.
Every time I’m naughty, it’s your fault. More cookies will help me forgive you.
Keep on dressing me up. I’m handsome and when you think I’m cute, I get more cookies.
Once in a while I so badly want to feel the delicate skin of a human between my teeth. Little ones are delicious with their sticky, candy-flavored paws. I can hardly stand it! Let me chew on your arm when we play. No? Okay, didn’t hurt to ask.
I know, I know. There is only one dog in the world who likes me, but I want more playtime with her. You should know that Olivia’s mom gives me more cookies than you do.
A bald dog is a cranky dog, so stop shaving off my fluff. Seriously, I look like a plucked chicken. Cookies would make me feel better.
And I would be less of a jerk if I had more cookies.
Timmie the dog
Author of the Intuition Series
– Just Intuition May 2014
– Burning Intuition Jan 2015
– Fatal Intuition coming Fall 2015