I just got home from the longest walk of my life because my dog, Rita, is a nightmare. Sure, she looks cute and has a nice smile, but she really is a freaking terror. She smells bad (I don’t bathe her because she tries to eat me in the sink), she has sharp, dinosaur-like teeth (I let her gnaw on things like razors, bricks, and staples), and she has an attitude like Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. In true Stitch fashion, I’ll come home from work and give her a sweet hug and she’ll reciprocate by chewing my ear off.
Leaving her cooped up in the house for 8-9 hours a day is not ideal, but it has to be done unfortunately. I make up for my bad dog parenting by taking her for walks every night.
{pause as I kick the dog off of me before she bites my toe off}
It was not unusual that i walked her tonight, except for that I took her down a little different path. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea, except for that I had already walked her about a mile and figured she would probably be tired. I was sorely mistaken. Just as I thought she had begun to slow down, a mini-van pulled up to the curb and two adorable little kids hopped out. The little girl immediately ran over to Rita to pet her because her “uncle in California had one just like her.” Almost as soon as she reached down to pet Rita, Rita went ballistic, licking the poor little girl’s legs to death. She then got a hold of the little girls sock – just barely – but she had a little teeth action happening.
The girl screamed, “SHE’S CRAZY!!!!” and started running down the sidewalk as fast as she can.
When the girl ran away, Rita quickly spotted her brother, who was about 10 feet away on the other side of the monkey grass. She started frantically jumping in the monkey grass toward him, vying for his attention, when the boy started screaming, “SPIDERS, WATCH OUT FOR THE SPIDERS IN THE GRASS!!!!!” I was about ankles deep in the “spiders” as he was shouting at us, so I was jumping up and down like a maniac.
I finally made it safely to the shores of the sidewalk, when the poor mom said, “sorry about my kids.” I picked up Rita (who lost interest in the boy and instead took to eating my headband), brushed the imaginary spiders off of her, and apologized, “sorry about my dog.”
