Woof Woof!
Saturday, October 08, 2005
I have a dog. Meet Casey, the Retarded Wonder Corgi.
Casey is a good little dog. Not very smart, but a pleasant little buggar who doesn't hump legs or piss on furniture.
He is a purebred. Apparently, the Queen of England keeps Corgis as pets, and they're known as "The Queen's Dog". Corgis are generally lap dogs - pampered, brushed, groomed regularly and fed only the finest kibble. Casey probably wonders on a daily basis how he ended up in La Casa del Crazy.
"WHEN IS MY GROOMING APPOINTMENT,
YOU BASTARDS!!!"
To work through the daily stress of living with three sadistic little boys and two adults who really don't have time to give him all the pampering he deserves, Casey chases cars. I have a fenced-in yard, so this equates to Casey having run a moat around the perimeter of my property. Four years of him running laps equals me never being able to grow grass along the first 12 inches of my yard ever again. We tried filling it in with mulch, so as not to look so white trash, but Casey promptly cut himself a nice little path through that as well. We officially gave up last year.
Even during the blizzards of the 2004/2005 winter, Casey still had to cut himself a path to run. Snowdrifts to the top of the fence didn't stop him, he would HAVE HIS EXERCISE DAMMIT.
Casey is the most popular individual in the neighborhood. Random strangers bring him treats. Some kid knocked on my door last week, gushing over how much he loved my dog, offering to walk him for free. The neighbors know our dog's name, but they don't know ours. It's pretty fuckin' sad when people prefer to talk to your dog than to you.
The final straw came the other day. There is this burly short bus driver who stops almost every day to babytalk to Casey. She doesn't think I know, but I hear her through the window almost every day.
"Who'sa good boy? WHO'SA GOOD BOY! Yesh you is, yesh you is [kissy kissy noises]."
Well yesterday, she stopped and started barking at Casey. Literally barking. Big bellowing sounds that would normally come from a German Shepherd were coming out of the window of a little yellow bus. Casey stood there and stared at her like she was from another fucking planet. I couldn't resist, and stepped outside.
"Good morning!" [waves to driver]
[Driver gives dirty look, speeds away without a word]
Apparently, I'm the freak because I attempted human conversation.
This is obviously a sign that Casey should be attending the neighborhood watch meetings and coffee hours, not me. I give up.
Casey is a good little dog. Not very smart, but a pleasant little buggar who doesn't hump legs or piss on furniture.
He is a purebred. Apparently, the Queen of England keeps Corgis as pets, and they're known as "The Queen's Dog". Corgis are generally lap dogs - pampered, brushed, groomed regularly and fed only the finest kibble. Casey probably wonders on a daily basis how he ended up in La Casa del Crazy.
"WHEN IS MY GROOMING APPOINTMENT,
YOU BASTARDS!!!"
To work through the daily stress of living with three sadistic little boys and two adults who really don't have time to give him all the pampering he deserves, Casey chases cars. I have a fenced-in yard, so this equates to Casey having run a moat around the perimeter of my property. Four years of him running laps equals me never being able to grow grass along the first 12 inches of my yard ever again. We tried filling it in with mulch, so as not to look so white trash, but Casey promptly cut himself a nice little path through that as well. We officially gave up last year.
Notice the puddles. MOAT!
Even during the blizzards of the 2004/2005 winter, Casey still had to cut himself a path to run. Snowdrifts to the top of the fence didn't stop him, he would HAVE HIS EXERCISE DAMMIT.
Casey is the most popular individual in the neighborhood. Random strangers bring him treats. Some kid knocked on my door last week, gushing over how much he loved my dog, offering to walk him for free. The neighbors know our dog's name, but they don't know ours. It's pretty fuckin' sad when people prefer to talk to your dog than to you.
The final straw came the other day. There is this burly short bus driver who stops almost every day to babytalk to Casey. She doesn't think I know, but I hear her through the window almost every day.
"Who'sa good boy? WHO'SA GOOD BOY! Yesh you is, yesh you is [kissy kissy noises]."
Well yesterday, she stopped and started barking at Casey. Literally barking. Big bellowing sounds that would normally come from a German Shepherd were coming out of the window of a little yellow bus. Casey stood there and stared at her like she was from another fucking planet. I couldn't resist, and stepped outside.
"Good morning!" [waves to driver]
[Driver gives dirty look, speeds away without a word]
Apparently, I'm the freak because I attempted human conversation.
This is obviously a sign that Casey should be attending the neighborhood watch meetings and coffee hours, not me. I give up.
sKWeez'd by K @ 3:54 PM | Perma-link
1 Comments:
At 10/10/2005 1:07 PM,
Stephanie said…
I can totally relate having a corgi myself, they are very amusing mine prefers to chasing me up the steps evertime I go near them. Thanks for the laugh!
Post a Comment
<< Home