Actually, the dog is very sweet and lovable, and bites only me, and that’s only when I get to playing rough with her (she likes the rough stuff, doncha know). The sad thing is that she suffers from Black Dog Syndrome, which in general is a problem with humans’ perception, but in her case, is exacerbated by the fact that she was adopted and returned multiple times before she finally found someone stupid enough to stick with her. Her self-esteem issues are considerable, to say the least.
Imagine how sad it was, then, when, as I rolled the white primer coats in the laundry room, she continuously walked in and out, rubbing up against the walls, in an obvious effort to Michael Jacksonize herself.
It was heartbreaking.
I took her out to the front porch and tried to explain a bit about the world (I’ve taken the liberty of translating what she said, as she still struggles with the King’s English a bit):
Dead Acorn: Indy, you need to realize that while there are certainly people in this world who actually give a rat’s ass about someone’s color, they’re just that … rats asses. You have to ignore them.
Indy: But the farthest thing from my mind is to frighten anyone, and what’s worse, the most frightened of all are the small children, to whom I simply want to bring joy with my puppy-like innocence.
Dead Acorn: I think you mean “furthest.”
Indy: I will so fucking bite you right now.
Dead Acorn: I apologize … that was uncalled for. My point is, is that I know what you’re going through. I happen to be something of a doofus, and there are plenty of people who make fun of me for that, and in fact, I have something of a history of being bitten in the face by dogs for no reason whatsoever, other than they sensed my doofiosity.
Indy (chuckling slightly): Yeah, I remember that.
(pause)
Dead Acorn: You really should remember who feeds you. But the thing is, I've learned to ignore them, for the most part. So you gonna be cool?
Indy: Yeah … yeah, I'll try. I think so. Thanks, doofus.
Dead Acorn: You know, I’ll cut out that subcutaneous ID chip and drive you out to the desert in a heartbeat.
I gave her a big rough hug, at which point she bit me. Bitch. A bitch slightly more at ease in her own skin, though.
4 comments:
My dog is colour blind for her own convenience only - she will mix up luminous pink curtains that she is allowed bite with my leg which she is not allowed bite - she's also shape and texture blind in the same circumstances.
That must be a species-wide trait. Indy is selectively deaf ... her ears shut down if I'm yelling "COME HERE!" from 5 feet away, but her hearing is remarkably acute when I try to quietly open a snack while she's sleeping.
You should get a cat. My dog, also black and third- or fourth-hand, has really found a sense of purpose and direction in his life by continually knocking my cat off the self-important pedestal that she has erected for herself. (If cats have self-esteem problems, it that they have too much.)
There was almost a cat. I think I have a cat, actually, only he lives at the EMDAMOTDA's house. This cat loves me. She and Indy should be friends, but they're working through it. I might be a little drunk right now.
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