Buster has been gone for five months and I still miss him so much it hurts sometimes. How can I explain to my children that I’m crying because I miss that mean, old bear and the way he’d wag his tail so hard his hind legs would dance off the ground each afternoon when I got home from work? How can I convince my heart not to break each time I think of stroking his fur as we put him down? He was a dog, for God’s sake. Damn, but I miss him.
It doesn’t help that our new dog is SO STUPID. Onyx is a total moron who runs her thick skull into walls, can’t find a treat that’s right in front of her face, and wants nothing more than for us to throw the ball ALL THE TIME.
Are you taking care of business in the bathroom? She’ll drop her ball in your lap. Are you a five-year-old learning to read, all curled up in the recliner at 7:45 PM, pajamas on, teeth brushed? She will annoy the crap out of you by dropping her ball at your feet and repeatedly nudging it closer to your hands, even though the back door is closed and no prior incidents would indicate that you are at all inclined to pick up that ball and throw it. Are you standing in the kitchen, hands clean, trying to make dinner? Then Onyx-Bionix-Master-Idiot will eventually give up on the ball and will lie down right under your feet. Right under them.
Oh, you needed to do the dishes? I’ll just wait right here until you can throw the ball.
Every night, she loses her ball under the couch and proceeds to bark at it until one of us retrieves it for her. The other day, she dropped her ball in the toilet as soon as I had finished wiping my son’s butt… I hadn’t had a chance to flush yet. She gets so excited when we go on a walk or a run that she jumps up and grabs the leash to walk herself. We finally had to buy a leash woven with steel cable. I’m not joking.
There are advantages to having a dumb dog, sure, especially one who is universally submissing and has no prey drive whatsoever, but fuck, she is such an empty head. I should have changed her name to “Dippy.”
It appears we’ve saddled ourselves with a brainless fart machine of a dog (and oh, can she clear a room). It would help if she were a cuddler (except when she’s farting), but she’s not. Here’s hoping I eventually grow to love the dumbass.