Those of you with dogs will understand.
You know that moment you leave for work. You look back before closing the door and see those pathetic eyes looking back, silently saying "Please don't leave me. For without you, I will die." The guilt is palpable all day long. You imagine them at home, curled into a ball near the window...Head raised at every sound....Awaiting the moment when you, in all your triumphant humanness, return to once again make their lives whole.
Well, it's bullshit. Unmitigated, sanctimonious, ego-driven bullshit.
And now I have proof.
Our dogs think they're putting one over on us. They use the droopy eyes, pinned back ears and barely audible whines like experts. But I know that the Brains (Charli) and the Bassetard (aka Huck) aren't sedentary. Quite the contrary. Huck, on his own, isn't capable of the thought processes involved in a charade of this magnitude. It's only when he becomes Charli's brawny minion that their true power is unleashed. You see, they're good. Really good. So good and so organized and deliberate in their choice of activities that a minimum of evidence remains afterward. But occasionally, they get sloppy. Over the past months, I've noticed a routine. Wednesday, I've deduced, is paintball day. And yesterday must have been a doozy.
|Direct hit! That's gonna leave a mark.|
You doubt the exchange of gunfire?
That's not paint?
Hmmmm. You're probably right because I know that idiots make the Brains (as well as Him and I) madder than Jocelyn Wildenstein's blind date. And I'm sure that if the Brains had access to a gun (or had an opposable thumb, for that matter) that the Bassetard would have been dead long ago.
|"Fuck this! Stupidity MUST be exterminated!!"|
Surprisingly, and despite his apparent moronic tendencies, Huck has embraced the concept of going out to pee and poop much more quickly than Charli has, to the constant amazement of both Him and I. It's not a matter of intelligence, but a battle of wills with Charli. I never considered either of us to be tyrannical or even terribly demanding, but Charli's got a bone to pick. I know they talk behind our backs:
Brains: When will you ever learn?
Brains: Shitting inside, doofus. It pisses them off.
'Tard: I cudn't hode it anymore.
Brains: Yeah, I know. But we BOTH get in trouble when it happens!
'Tard: I twied twice to wet them know. Nobody wud lissen.
Brains: That's gonna happen. They forget who runs this place.
'Tard: Who does run this place, Chucky?
Brains: Don't worry about it. Not sure why you tolerate that going outside shit. It's fucking cold out there.
'Tard: But that's wat they want us to do, Chucky.
Brains: I don't give a furry damn what they want. You wanna be oppressed by the man for the rest of your life?!
|See those glowing eyes? That's the color of intolerance and contempt.|
'Tard: I don't wike it when they yewl at me. It hurts my feewings. Expeshewy Dad. He's WOUD and scawy.
Brains: You big, sloppy maroon!! You gotta be stealthy. When they're not looking, you gotta sneak into the bedroom, scoot under the bed and do your crapping there. By the time they find it and you give 'em the 'sorry' eyes, it's too late to scold. Trust me. It's science.
'Tard: OK. But wat bout that dead spawow I ate wast night? It's been tawking back to me aw morning.
Brains: Focus, Tard! The 'sorry' eyes are crucial OK, now let's practice...
Brains: You're a natural, kid! Bwahahahahaha!!!!! World domination will soon be mine...and I never even had to hump anyone....
Woolite carpet cleaner and bitchiness, y'all,
P.S. No animals were harmed in the making of this blog. Several were ridiculed and called names, however.