Monday, August 01, 2005

I think I'm physically turning into a fetus shaped adult.

Oh, you're thinking, here we go...

Nothing of the sort. Don't be so bloody cynical. It's all my dog's fault.
You know about the greedy red cocker spaniel pig, the would-be hairy balloon dog that passes for the resident pet de la Casa Highett, it's a bastard of disproportionate magnitude. He's not a big dog, just knee high, but he stares and stares and stares and the only way to get relief is to curl up one's legs so your face is hidden from his view. Only then will he lose interest and plop himself down on the floor.

Right in the middle of the loungeroom.

Get up and he gets up. Head for the kitchen, he follows. What happens when you get to the kitchen? He sits and fucking stares and stares and stares. God help you if you ever get anything to eat. Then he sits and stares and shivers and whimpers. It's like he hasn't been fed for days. The fat little fuck eats more often than do I.

I can't stand it. I've had enough. The slightest movement produces a stare of epic dimensions. An hour to us is like 35 seconds to him when it comes to staring. Forget to dissuade him with the knees up caper and he thinks it's an invitation to put head on lap and stare at point blank range.

We live in an open plan house here. There aren't any doors in the living area. To get away from the little furry bastard means sitting in the toilet or standing in the laundry or the bathroom. He thinks it's unreasonable that the human inhabitants of this house should possibly consider eating without giving him his share at least. That would mean he would eat up to 12 times a day. He'd be bigger than the house.

I so desperately want to push his face through the wall and kick his fucking arse til he DIES, I am that fed to the back teeth of this interminable staring habit he has. I won't, of course. I find cruelty to animals distasteful. He's also old, nearly deaf and fairly clumsy so I doubt we could even give him away to a good home. It's also not like he has a bad life either. He always has clean fresh water in the same place all the time, he gets fed twice a day and bits and pieces 3 times more. He gets walked every day and has outings with doggy friends twice a week on top of that. It's not a bad existence. It's a conscious struggle we have to keep him at his optimum weight about which we tend to worry because he's deceptively fluffy and pretends to be constantly starving. But he's just fine.

It'll be so good when he finally dies though. The peace and quiet, the uninterupted meal times, not having to worry about stepping on him in the dark... If he weren't so damn good looking, I'd be so tempted to take matters further to ensure his rapid deletion from the register. He is, however, one damn fine looking dog so we're keeping him still.

I do have other reasons for disliking housepets but that's another story for another time.

(Time to compose this entry: 17 mins.)

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