Dawg

I don’t know what to think about some supposed “dog lovers” that breed and then sell sick puppies. One of our long, and I do mean” LONG”, time four legged family passed on to her reward. That was the only creature I have ever seen that smelled worse in life than after death. She can never be replaced. In an effort to keep the love of my life from remaining in a funk at feeding time, the youngest daughter found a pup. A seven week old Basset Hound. My goodness, the face on that dog, she will never drink anything that doesn’t taste like ears.

The wife went to see the little darling, and came back to say she didn’t want her daughter to spend that much on a pet. I could tell that this was the hair producing house wrecker she wanted. Picture furious scribbling on a check. The pup was quiet and a little lethargic, all she wanted to do was sleep. We got the standard claims of wormed, weaned and shots.

Lying bitch.

On the second day we were gifted with graphic proof that pup HAS NOT been wormed. Off to the vet for meds.
On the third day pup can’t stand up.
Off to the vet again, one look and the vet says, “Parvo”, for the average dog that is a death sentence. For the non dog owner, Parvovirus disease pretty much dissolves the dog’s digestive tract, they generally die from dehydration, sometimes in a day.

The bride is devastated; if I had feelings I would have had a twinge too. The vet says not to worry, we haven’t lost a pup to parvo lately. (?????)

I talked to the wife about replacing the pup in case it doesn’t make it. Nope, that is the one she wants, and no other. Let me explain here that when the love of my life is hurt or crying, I get more than a little upset. Actually I start looking for the source of the pain, so I can wreck it, crush it, shoot it, or drug it. I am not rational, I know this.

Life goes on, we check daily, pup is still alive. (?) On the third day we are at the beach, fishing and get a call to come pick up pup, she’ll do better at home! (?) The bride is happy, I am no longer looking for the seller of dying pups.

We are now the proud (?) owner of a thousand dollar puppy. That would be about Two Hundred Fifty dollars a pound.

Now the processor of puppy chow is close to ten times the size of her arrival. She loves to chew everything. Can anyone explain the attraction of galvanized bolts, dirty socks, and old shoes? She will sneak around to get chocolate, and loves hush puppies, ironic that is. Her favorite game is having me chase her around the house. She busts her butt on the tile and never slows down, nails clicking like a herd of stampeding crabs, ears flopping, barking fit to run a rabbit. She is learning to obey commands, and to dance on her back legs. She is the biggest attention hog around. At bed time she is done with you, she goes to her bed and calls it a day. Gotta rest up for the destructionn tomorrow, a puppies work is never done.

I wonder how many puppies that woman buries in a year?