1 month ago
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Last night I had a migraine from hell and I mean hell, by the time I decided to pack it in for the evening I was crying it hurt so badly. I'm someone who doesn't regularly cry either.
I am the person who laughed in the movie theater during Titanic when the chick says to jack, "I'll never let go." and promptly drops his ass in the water. To me, it was ironic and funny as hell, to others in the theater it was as if they had lost a child. Although, the men in the theatre laughed with me until their wives/girlfriends poked them in the ribs. Any way...
So I had just gotten myself halfway comfortable, pre tears, in a recliner and my husband had taken BadDog for a run. Next thing I know my husband comes in frantic- BadDog had gone after a coyote and was gone. My response was, "on the leash he got away?" " No, I didn't have him on the leash." "Huh, we can always get a new one."
My husband was not pleased. He asked if I wasn't at least a little concerned and I responded that "no not really, I told you to always have his ass on a leash, he loves to chase things and if you took him out without one, and he doesn't come back, we can get a new dog." Now my husband was ...pissed would be the appropriate word.
See I love the dog, but he is a dog, and I don't have that attachment of my dog is my kid.
Plus, this dog is not really a dog, I mean; he is in the sense that is his species, but he's much more horse like. 120 pounds and 32 inches tall (think 7 year old kids tall). He's a Rhodesian ridgeback, aka the lion dog. People see him and either think he is the most beautiful dog in the world or they reenact Darryl Hannah in Steel Magnolia's -slow southern drawl with the emphasis on dog "What kind of dog is that?" Then people ask "How do you shave his hair to make the mohawk?" I want to say "people if you think I have the time or the effort in me to shave this dog's hair into a perfect mohawk and make the hair in the mohawk grow the opposite direction of the rest of his hair, you are sadly mistaken." But I don't, I smile politely and say, "That’s specific to his breed; he's born with it, like maybelline."
So my husband now throws a phone at me - in case someone calls on the dog (cough) - and heads out in the wild blue yonder to find BadDog. He has the truck halfway out of the garage and Baddog was at the door, with a look that said, "Hey we going to the park? I like the park. Do you have any food, I like food."
So my husband was annoyed at me, BadDog curled up next to me, my head is pounding like there's a 4 inch midget with a jackhammer having fun behind my left temple and eye.
My husband looks at BadDog and says
"Traitor, she doesn't even care if you never come home."
BadDog farts and I head to bed.
I am the person who laughed in the movie theater during Titanic when the chick says to jack, "I'll never let go." and promptly drops his ass in the water. To me, it was ironic and funny as hell, to others in the theater it was as if they had lost a child. Although, the men in the theatre laughed with me until their wives/girlfriends poked them in the ribs. Any way...
So I had just gotten myself halfway comfortable, pre tears, in a recliner and my husband had taken BadDog for a run. Next thing I know my husband comes in frantic- BadDog had gone after a coyote and was gone. My response was, "on the leash he got away?" " No, I didn't have him on the leash." "Huh, we can always get a new one."
My husband was not pleased. He asked if I wasn't at least a little concerned and I responded that "no not really, I told you to always have his ass on a leash, he loves to chase things and if you took him out without one, and he doesn't come back, we can get a new dog." Now my husband was ...pissed would be the appropriate word.
See I love the dog, but he is a dog, and I don't have that attachment of my dog is my kid.
Plus, this dog is not really a dog, I mean; he is in the sense that is his species, but he's much more horse like. 120 pounds and 32 inches tall (think 7 year old kids tall). He's a Rhodesian ridgeback, aka the lion dog. People see him and either think he is the most beautiful dog in the world or they reenact Darryl Hannah in Steel Magnolia's -slow southern drawl with the emphasis on dog "What kind of dog is that?" Then people ask "How do you shave his hair to make the mohawk?" I want to say "people if you think I have the time or the effort in me to shave this dog's hair into a perfect mohawk and make the hair in the mohawk grow the opposite direction of the rest of his hair, you are sadly mistaken." But I don't, I smile politely and say, "That’s specific to his breed; he's born with it, like maybelline."
So my husband now throws a phone at me - in case someone calls on the dog (cough) - and heads out in the wild blue yonder to find BadDog. He has the truck halfway out of the garage and Baddog was at the door, with a look that said, "Hey we going to the park? I like the park. Do you have any food, I like food."
So my husband was annoyed at me, BadDog curled up next to me, my head is pounding like there's a 4 inch midget with a jackhammer having fun behind my left temple and eye.
My husband looks at BadDog and says
"Traitor, she doesn't even care if you never come home."
BadDog farts and I head to bed.
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