There are no puppies in my house anymore. Thor is now 11, which is in his early 80’s in German Shepherd years. Chewy is nearly 10, which is mid-80’s in Great Pyrenees years.
You’d think in their dotage they’d be less prone to random acts of asshattery, right?
Oh no, definitely not. And so, things I’ve yelled at the dogs this week:
- What the actual fuck, get your head out of the toilet. You look hungover. Chewy. SLEEPING in the bathroom with his head propped on the open toilet. He drooled on the seat. Not amused.
- DO NOT EAT CHARCOAL!
- Get back here! You’re too old to chase bunnies, dumbass.
- Ok, who crapped a fucking brontosaurus? Yes, I mean a REAL toy brontosaurus, which I found next to a fresh pile in my yard while cleaning up after the boys. I’m 80% certain one of the neighborhood kids left it there. I’m not positive though.
- STOP HUMPING YOUR BROTHER! So, Chewy’s back legs don’t work so well anymore. Have you ever seen a 150 pound dog try to hump when his legs give out and he’s essentially a really large, furry seal?
- I don’t WANT to throw the ball again – sigh – ok. It’s really hard to say no to an old dog who just wants to trot after a toy down the hallway.
- Please stop trying to eat the children. No, they weren’t REALLY eating babies. I have newish neighbors with 5 and 7 year old girls who’ve decided they LOVE my dogs. I sort of adore that – Chewy is totally willing to lie in the grass and be a Barbiemobile. But, the drool gets excessive.
- STOP EATING POOP. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, JACKASS? At some point I bumped my watch and activated Siri, who only captured “ass” out of that entire yelled sentence. She responded “Did you accidentally summon me?”
And that’s the story of how I inadvertently summoned a demon this week.