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Big Woof
By briantologist | March 25, 2005
So last night after a successful viewing of the O.C. (was anybody else confused as to how, exactly, Julie Cooper’s porn ended up on the big screen? can we discuss this here?), Dame Judy was in the process of making a graceful exit, having noted that tha Lady and I were kind of falling asleep. Moments after the door closed behind her, we heard a knock.
It was Dame Judy again, returning for some crap she’d left in our refrigerator. Oh yeah, and HOLDING THE CHAIN OF A GREAT BIG DAMP SWEET ST. BERNARD!!!
I have no idea where this dog came from. I only know that he was really sweet, was fully prepared to come right into the house (what’s up, four freaked-out kitties?), and that he’d probably already be living with us if we had a fence around our backyard. God help me, I have the softest spot in the world for really big dogs. I’ve long felt the dog I’m destined to own is the Mastiff, a breed that commonly grows well over 200 pounds, has an enormous head, and tends to snore, drool, and fart in a fairly remarkable manner.
What I love about getting a dog this huge — and this is particularly true of the Mastiff — is that it’s more a matter of taking on a roommate than of getting a dog. You’ve basically got this huge naked hairy guy hanging around your apartment all the time; usually he’s sleeping. He’s never gonna get a job. He’s not really much of a conversationalist. Most of the time he smells kinda funny. And he’s never gonna get very excited about much of anything.
There’s just something so deeply ridiculous about a living arrangement like this that I kind of can’t help but love it. Why would you do something like this? Why wouldn’t you? Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to clean up massive dumps for the dog’s entire life?
Sometimes I think it’s a very lucky thing I don’t have that fence around the back yard.
Topics: Exciting, Possibly | 2 Comments »
March 26th, 2005 at 6:41 am
The thing I’ve always thought was sad about big dogs is that they have the shortest life span. The really cool dogs live about seven years or so, meanwhile those fawning little shit-eaters that yap and shiver and piss all over your feet when you walk in the door, those SOBs live to be twenty years old and are usually the one factor keeping grandma from moving out of that huge house and into a more manageable apartment in a nice senior complex, until of course it’s too late and she breaks a hip, usually by tripping over her fucking little Sugar Pie.
Uh, but I digress.
March 26th, 2005 at 11:14 am
No, seriously, I’m right there with you. Every goddamn word. I was surprised to learn Mastiffs live as long as 12 years; I know Great Danes average about seven, and ditto Irish Wolfhounds, the latter of which I totally love too.