Bad Widdle Doggie Woggie Episode II: The Furry Menace. original pet humor by Steve Wingate

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Bad Widdle Doggie Woggie: Episode II

The Furry Menace

By Steve Wingate

Some of you may remember my first story about Conner, our newly acquired inside dog. In that story I told you that he already, at three months, weighed as much as a Honda Civic, had no bathroom skills, couldn’t keep any food down longer than 14 seconds, and was rewarded with love and kisses nonetheless.

I am not entirely pleased to report that at six months old, much of this has changed. He now weighs as much as a supermarket and can put his front paws on my shoulders in an attempt to French-kiss me when I come home from work. Not that I don’t appreciate his enthusiasm, but I know the reason he acts so glad to see me when I come home is because he thinks I might have food somewhere on my person. It doesn’t even have to food, for that matter—if I happen to have a soggy tissue in my pocket, that suits him just fine. I coax him off of me by saying, as sweetly and soothingly as I can manage: “GET YOUR %#^ING FILTHY PAWS OFF ME YOU ^&%#*&!!!” He usually acts surprised, as if this same ritual is not repeated every evening and trots off to resume eating whatever revolting thing he might have found lying about.

Just three months ago, his stomach was extremely delicate and sensitive, causing him to empty it via the reverse express elevator from time to time on the rug to inspect the contents. Now he eats EVERYTHING with no problem. Conner thinks food, no matter who happens to be eating it, is all about him and will do his best to steal it. As a result, we have to feed the cats on top of the refrigerator and eat our own meals locked in the bathroom. If we do decide to give him a leftover or two, we have to make sure it’s not on a paper or Styrofoam plate because he will enthusiastically eat it before he realizes the food is gone. He has also eaten several pairs of shoes, a video tape, a 9 volt battery, an extension cord, part of an air rifle, a recliner, and an entire box of tampons. On the up side of this, we don’t have to scoop the litter box as often.

He has kind of gotten the idea about moving his bowels and emptying his bladder outside now. It’s a good thing too, because his landmines have now reached epic proportions and could easily bury furniture, other pets, perhaps one of our children under a Matterhorn of poop. Sadly, he isn’t quite bright enough to figure out when he has to poop—we just have to watch him and when he starts to make a certain frown-ey face, we rush to take him outside before splashdown. Once outside, he sniffs the ground for 45 minutes, as if he can’t remember where he pooped last. But that’s not why he sniffs—he just wants to find where someone has walked recently and plant it there.

It’s also become apparent that Conner has inherited his mother’s colossal stupidity and her ear-splitting, brainless yap. Just to give you an example: When the weather is nice, we put Conner outside on a chain that allows him to run and play in a 25 foot radius. There are no trees or bushes nearby in which he can possibly get tangled. Yet, within twenty minutes, we hear him start that irritating, piercing yapping sound capable of shattering crystal in the next county and go out to find that he has still managed to get himself tangled around nothing. That’s right nothing. After his runner has been untangled, we can find absolutely nothing that could have started his entanglement. One time, we foolishly left the garden hose too close to his romping radius and later found him tangled in his leash and the garden hose. I still find it strange that he didn’t just eat the hose like he does everything else.

And he still gets way more attention than should be considered normal. He gets treated like a puppy in that he is unerringly indulged in every way. My wife will allow this monster to crawl into her lap and lick her on the chin. Then she has the nerve to complain when I try the same thing. That’s a pretty irritating double standard, especially when you consider the fact that I weigh less, smell better, cost less to feed, and use the toilet without having to be told. He also thinks that he should be allowed to sleep on our bed. Call me crazy or selfish, but it just ain’t natural. He who lies down with dogs shall rise up with fleas. Was what my dad always said. I know he didn’t mean that literally, but I’ll use whatever I can to keep him off my bed.

Anyway, that’s enough for now. I’ve got to get off to bed before Conner steals all the covers.