A Coco Haiku
oh, heartbreaker dog
you don't deserve that big hug
your heart is evil
innocent boy slave
drop the conniving pooch now
run for your life, son
My dog, Coco, and I are not getting along tonight because she can be one demanding pooch.
This may be the biggest favor I ever do for my readers: take my advice and never get a smart dog. Sure, it seems like a smart dog would make life easier, but that is just a black hole of reasoning that will pull you in and masticate your soul as you face the realization that you now live with a creature that is smarter, faster and has far more free time that you ever will. You know I wouldn't spit out such a run-on sentence unless I meant business. And by the time you realize it, it's too late for you...everyone will side with the dog, because...well...she's the family dog...and she's cute.
Coco uses her free time in a variety of ways, each more sinister, and all part of a long range plan of world dominion - beginning with my home and family. For starters, she takes long, refueling naps. That seems so innocent until you realize she is resting so she can run around like a maniac when we get home or are trying to work or concentrate. It's part of her training regimen. When we're tired, she is ready to roll.
I'm not really sure how the next thing developed, but I think she is using free time to learn new things; sort of an independent, long distance learning program. Better check my credit card, because I don't know how she might have paid for such a thing. Surely, she didn't come up with all her craziness by herself. The list of skills she has mastered in order to control humans is staggering, and they're all specific to her. Normal dogs don't do these things.
We decided long ago that if she were a dog superhero, her name would be Annoya.
For example, she is addicted to playing ball. Gladly, she'd skip all meals and naps to chase one of her balls three or four hundred times. And she's selfish, too; if you take her out for poodle potty party, she'll grab one of the balls. Lord, forbid you might touch it while she is gone...she doesn't trust us with her prized possessions. If she hands you the ball (and she WILL hand you the ball) and you ignore it, she'll tuck it in your chair carefully, even give it a little nudge to wedge it between your leg and chair. A gentle reminder that she requires your services.
Still not throwing the ball? Coco smugly wanders over to the book shelf and turns toward me and stares. Everything about her body language says, "That's right...I'm going to do it."
"You wouldn't dare," I warn.
Phffft! She is in charge, Coco does what she pleases and punishes those who do not do her evil will. She turns around and grabs a book off the shelf and throws it on the floor. If necessary, she'll grab a second book; plop! Another one on the floor. I fire up my full correction mode and she stops...temporarily.
If company is here, her next move will be to go to the kitchen, open the door to the laundry room, and head for the laundry basket. Sorting through the basket, she looks for the next item to get my attention diverted from my visitors. Ah, there it is - my underwear. It's a lovely sight as she arrives with my panties. She is a very small dog; I'm a plus sized flipster. She looks like a paratrooper who has just landed and is dragging the full parachute behind her, and the parachute is pink. Bringing my bloomers out for company always brings a smile to everyone's face - but mine.
Lately, her high priced doggie allergy medicine - which seems to be doing the job, thank the Lord - has made her just a little more active. I needed that like I needed my uterus put back in. For years, I've been waiting for doggie senior citizen status to arrive and slow her down. The whole spiel about how one human year is equal to seven dog years is mularky. This dog is firmly planted at a youthful human age of about twenty; specifically a human who is on an Olympic team and sprints like she already has a gold medal hanging from her collar.
Do I get sympathy? NO. Everyone thinks Coco is just great. She's just a sweet little dog.
The picture shows her true nature; poor Gonzo just loves her furry wonderfulness. Meanwhile, Coco is thinking: "Sure, I'll let your boy hug me. He can reach the treat jar. Score. Make it snappy, boy. Wrap it up."