Some of you that know me well are probably surprised it’s taken me until my fourth real post to even mention my dog.
To be honest, I’m a little surprised at me, too.
So for those that don’t know, I am kind of obsessed with my dog.
His name is Renegade (Go Noles!!) and he’s a Boxer mix that’s pretty glorious. He’s loving, snuggly, smart, mostly obedient…
And he’s beautiful.
LOOK AT THIS FACE.
Well, okay, so this is the Reindeer version of him, but you get the idea. (And no, I did not pick this outfit out… Hubby-to-Be did. So what does that say about the both of us?)
Anyway, Renegade has a very special personality. We believe he was abused before we got him, for several reasons, which include scars on two of his paws, his uneasiness around new people/places, his tendency to bark at loud noises and other scary occurrences, which may or may not include anything at you all drop EVER, the doormat moving slightly out of place, a plastic bag floating to the ground, you get the idea. (Not the brightest crayon in the box, but the sweetest boy ever.)
Among the things he doesn’t like is the laminate flooring in our house. This is mostly because (or at least I’m pretty sure the reason is) he slides on it a little when he runs. It’s not glossy, so it’s not as bad as the one in our last house, which was. (And prompted such hilarity as him getting excited over something and trying to run and sliding into the back door instead).
For this reason, when it rolls around to his witching hour, which pretty much falls between 7:30 and 8:30 p.m. on a nightly basis (although tonight he’s pushing it and is whining at me right now to play), he runs only on the area rug.
Mind you, this is not a tiny dog, but it IS a pretty small rug. It’s only like 5X7, and we have an ottoman which takes up some of that space… leaving him roughly 5X5 left to work with.
When witching hour rolls around, this is what we’re dealing with:
You can see the slightly crazed look, enlarged pupils, in prime pouncing position. This is when you know it’s about to go down. (As I type, he’s now growling at a toy that he knocked off the carpet onto the laminate).
When you see THIS face, shit just got real.
So what this nonsense generally results in, is Renegade very gingerly selecting a toy from his toy basket (This takes time, this dog has approximately 40 toys. No. That is not an exaggeration. I am pretty sure THAT is the reason we don’t have nice things.) I say he does it gingerly, because since he is not fond of the floor, and it is on the flooring, he stretches out all the way, reaching to the toy basket like if his back feet come off the carpet, he will be out-of-bounds or something. Then he proceeds to wildly flip the toy around, growling, pouncing, throwing it up in the air, barking at it, etc.
We are supposed to play along by occasionally pretending to take the toy away, and if we don’t, he gets louder and louder and flips the toy at us. Or he just barks at us until we cooperate.
But the other thing he does is butt-run wildly around the carpet. Remember when I said the usable area was about 5X5? Yeah. So he’s butt-running in that small space, which basically ends up looking like he’s turning around really fast and frantically. (And he does not put even a toenail off the carpet while he does this, because THE FLOOR IS LAVA).
This brings me to Friday night.
Best Man was in town and because I had to work, he and Hubby-to-Be decided to take a road trip to a nearby city and hit a casino. They left early in the day, and we all assumed they’d be home not long after I got home from work to hang out. I turned down some other plans, because I all, “Hey, I’m actually not going to be lame for once and have plans already!”
This did not happen.
Instead, my Friday night was reduced to a delightful chat with Maid of Honor (actually, this part was good), sitting in the middle of said carpet, rearranging the pictures in my frames. (Just wait, it gets even more lame).
It is while I’m doing this that I notice his butt-running is ruining my carpet.
His nails are pulling up the fibers (or threads? whatever you call them), so they look like when you have a pull in your sweater. It makes the carpet look all raggedy, and we just can’t have that.
So what do I do? What any normal person does. I grab a pair of scissors (why are they called pairs? It has the two parts, but if you took it apart and only had one, no one would ask you why you were only holding one scissor) and begin cutting out the pulled parts.
It’s Friday night, I’m in yoga pants, crawling around on my living room floor, cutting pieces out of my carpet, ass in the air.
That’s when I look up, Renegade perched on the couch, watching me, and he is JUDGING ME.
I wish I had taken a picture, because he was grilling me harder than a fat kid on the dessert line at the buffet.
Like, “Seriously, Mom? This is what you’re reduced to on a Friday night? You must be getting old.”
That’s just great. Judgment from a dog that finds a plastic bag floating in the wind to be a terroristic threat.
I just stared back (butt still in the air, scissors in hand, I’m sure this would have made quite the terrifying picture) but for once, really had nothing snarkastic to say, because, well, when you’re right, you’re right.
So I hoisted myself off the floor and took Renegade outside to finish the rest of his witching hour festivities, which conclude with a 5 minute non-stop run around our backyard.
I love when he does this. All white and brown blur, panting, little feet pounding the ground, runs, runs, runs… until he stops and takes a dump. Every time, without fail.
Welcome to Friday night at the Snarkstead.
By the way, Snarklets, follow me on Twitter @snarksense!
If nothing else, I’m sure you’ll all be subjected to pictures of the dog, and perhaps I will delight you with the video his mindless rug butt-runs if I can get a good one.
And of course, all SnarkSense, all the time.