Even though he can be quite the time killer, the dog that lives in my house has a few emotional and functional issues. For starters, his biggest emotional issue is that he must always be on your lap. He’s what some people call a “lover,” but I call it annoying sometimes. Not because he wants attention or affection, but directly because of his functional issues.
Duncan has functional issues when taking a pee. He just can’t seem to hold his leg up long enough to finish, resulting in pee drenching his front right leg like a fire hose on a burning house. Sure, as soon as we come inside he sits and licks off the pee for a good 5 minutes. Cool you’d think, but two things. One, did I mention he always wants to lick your face? And two, my personality doesn’t lend itself to being satisfied with the “licking” method of cleanliness. Therefore, he must have a bath. He sleeps in our bed. It’s bad enough I have to wake up periodically with dog nuts in my face, or that socket directly below his nub of a tail {you may know it as the poop chute}. But I don’t feel like sleeping in dog pee. Or anyone pee for that matter.
The new fetish, well I guess it’s been about two months now, is my socks. Not Zoe’s socks, my socks. I work from home, so at random and numerous times throughout the day I walk from my office at the front of the loft, out to the kitchen for coffee, food, or whatever floats my boat. And almost always I have to step over nasty, dirty, dog spit soaked socks. I must mention that usually I don’t notice them until they’re under my feet. Oh, forgot to mention. Usually bare foot during the day while I’m working. Can you imagine a sock so wet that it squishes when you step on it? But it’s not wet enough to fall off by itself, that’s for damn sure. It sticks, resulting in a forced removal. Now I have to use my fingers for this. Why? Because if I try to scrape it off on the floor, I only continue to squish the sock under my foot resulting in more dog spit oozing out. So I then have to wash my foot and my hands.
The kicker is I have NO idea where he gets them. We keep the laundry room door closed almost all day. And when the door is open, it isn’t long enough for him to bring all these socks out. So I have a theory.
I think he takes one out whenever he sees the door open, and he stockpiles them somewhere. I haven’t been able to find this stockpile yet, but it exists. Because at any given point throughout the day, I can find 4 t0 5 socks on the living room floor in front of the television.
Duncan: The sock eating, snoring, farting, peeing on his own leg Boston Terrier.
Even though he can be quite the time killer, the dog that lives in my house has a few emotional and functional issues. For starters, his biggest emotional issue is that he must always be on your lap. He’s what some people call a “lover,” but I call it annoying sometimes. Not because he wants attention or affection, but directly because of his functional issues.
Duncan has functional issues when taking a pee. He just can’t seem to hold his leg up long enough to finish, resulting in pee drenching his front right leg like a fire hose on a burning house. Sure, as soon as we come inside he sits and licks off the pee for a good 5 minutes. Cool you’d think, but two things. One, did I mention he always wants to lick your face? And two, my personality doesn’t lend itself to being satisfied with the “licking” method of cleanliness. Therefore, he must have a bath. He sleeps in our bed. It’s bad enough I have to wake up periodically with dog nuts in my face, or that socket directly below his nub of a tail {you may know it as the poop chute}. But I don’t feel like sleeping in dog pee. Or anyone pee for that matter.
The new fetish, well I guess it’s been about two months now, is my socks. Not Zoe’s socks, my socks. I work from home, so at random and numerous times throughout the day I walk from my office at the front of the loft, out to the kitchen for coffee, food, or whatever floats my boat. And almost always I have to step over nasty, dirty, dog spit soaked socks. I must mention that usually I don’t notice them until they’re under my feet. Oh, forgot to mention. Usually bare foot during the day while I’m working. Can you imagine a sock so wet that it squishes when you step on it? But it’s not wet enough to fall off by itself, that’s for damn sure. It sticks, resulting in a forced removal. Now I have to use my fingers for this. Why? Because if I try to scrape it off on the floor, I only continue to squish the sock under my foot resulting in more dog spit oozing out. So I then have to wash my foot and my hands.
The kicker is I have NO idea where he gets them. We keep the laundry room door closed almost all day. And when the door is open, it isn’t long enough for him to bring all these socks out. So I have a theory.
I think he takes one out whenever he sees the door open, and he stockpiles them somewhere. I haven’t been able to find this stockpile yet, but it exists. Because at any given point throughout the day, I can find 4 t0 5 socks on the living room floor in front of the television.