Paws Off, She’s my Bitch!

It was never my intention to collect golden retrievers. Teacups would have been much easier and less costly.

It innocently started out with me yearning for something to love me un-conditionally that didn’t expect a ride, a twenty, or sex, unlike my teenagers and my husband. Now I have two, Barney and Dolly, a whopping 155 pounds of golden retriever sucking the life out of my house and constantly clogging the vacuum hose.

Barney, my 6 year old rescue dog, is the alpha male of the two. The big dumb blonde weighs 100 pounds and never stops tossing it around. Good Golly Miss Dolly is still considered a puppy at 14 months and is truly one of the cutest dogs I have ever seen. They make them cute for a reason; to insure you don’t kill them. They should make teenagers so cute.

Dolly was my parents latest mistake. At the ages of 67 and 74, mother thought it would keep dad young (and get him out of her hair) if she got a dog for him to walk. This only managed to piss him off. Then he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. This lead to dad leaving the house with a dog and returning alone yelling, “We have a dog…no one told me!”

Dolly came to stay for a weekend while the parental units were away and I guess I forgot to give her back. Mother, somehow, forgot to pick her up (on the promise that I did not give her away or change her name to Frank). I don’t know if dad has noticed she’s gone. Mother still complains that I stole her dog. Oh for Pete’s sake, it’s not like I told her Dolly ran away and hide her under the bed when they come for dinner. If I were to steal it would have been the Jag, not the dog, I have one of those.

Barney is older and was past the annoying puppy stages when I got him, he was a planned pregnancy you might say. Dolly was barely house trained, terrible on a leash and her favorite thing to eat was flip flops. Having four teenage girls gave her an endless supply of things to much on. With the arrival of winter she graduated to Uggs, causing large budgetary problems. Most people think its polite to remove their shoes when entering a house…not mine, leave the damn things on your feet I cannot afford to replace them.

Barney is trying to adjust to his new found friend. She is a royal pain in the ass, but secretly he thinks she is very pretty. Being the older more experienced dog he has become overprotective. If any other male, dogs included, try and stick their nose where most dogs do he will simply rip your head off and shit in your windpipe. This has significantly increased my vet bills for dogs I don’t own. “Here’s another thousand, no, I don’t need a receipt.”

Just when I thought things might be calming down Barney became especially annoyed when Dolly came trotting out of the woods with the head of a fish and would not share. I, for the life of me, could not catch her (I might not had been trying hard enough). Who would? It still had eyes! Over Barney’s bark I screamed “SHUT UP, you don’t even like sushi, that will be coming out both ends of her later and we can both have a laugh. Remember when you ate the leg of a deer, dear?”

Now I realize I am trying to rationalize with a dog, which is probably has a higher success rate that trying to communicate with the teenagers that live in my house, and it is only 6:50 AM! This is when my neighbor, whose front yard we are “debating” in, opens his door wearing nothing but boxer shorts and asks, “Loretta, have you thought about trading them in for some nice cats?”

No, but do you have any wasabi, soy sauce and the number of a dog trainer?