My dog, the asshole

So often I read things about dogs being “man’s best friend.” I admit, my dog is my world but it hit me the other day that despite the love and the kisses that I shower him with, my dog is an asshole.

For so many years I have always thought that my cat was the asshole who walks away when I try to pet him or just stands there unmoving, staring at me with a dirty look when I try to call him. I have seen countless videos on why cats are dicks but never once have I seen one where dogs are called to task on their behavior. So here is my blog about why my 175 -pound English mastiff named Bear-Bear is an asshole.

                It all started off when Bear-Bear was a puppy. One morning I was peacefully sleeping, when around seven a.m., I suddenly awoke, gagging on a long dog tongue scooping the inside of my mouth. Although most people say that he was just trying to show love, I have learned this military tactic is used only when he wants food.

This less aggressive, more loving approach only happened once. The next morning he found a new tactic that I call “the bitch-smack.” My dog will wait till I have slept for about four hours before he decides that once again he wants love and he wants love now, along with a bowl of food. I’ll be soundly dreaming about lollypops and happy things when suddenly I feel the weight of an enormous paw slam onto my face and the claws dig into my cheeks as he slowly slides it back off. Of course I’ll wake up yelling out in pain and shock only to have my eyes fall upon my behemoth dog who is innocently sitting down wagging his tail so hard that his body rocks from side to side.

 

If that wasn’t shocking enough, his latest military wake up tactic, “the concussion,” is by far the most effective. When Bear-Bear decides that he is hungry and I must wake up to feed him at an ungodly hour, he walks up to my bed, stretches his neck over as far as he can and slams his head into my face. His head is so large that I wake up to a face full of neck, gasping for breath with the weight of a boulder resting on my head. Does he release me from this death hold? No. My dog waits until my arms are flailing in the air before lifting up his head and giving me a surprised look that says, “Oh you’re up? Wow, what a coincidence, so am I. Breakfast time?”

In addition to my furry alarm clock whom I have now learned to block with a pillow, my dog has another quirk that makes me come to the conclusion that he is in fact an asshole. Bear-Bear does not agree with me going on vacations-ever. In the select few times that I have left him with a pet sitter even for two days, he has taken it upon him self to “stick it to the man,” and teach me a lesson about how he feels when I return. The first day that I come home, he showers me with love an attention- I have learned this is the honeymoon stage. When the honeymoon stage is over, which happens to be the next day- my very well-trained dog (Who never has potty training issues until one day after I come back from vacation) will wait until I am calm and rested before looking at me with a vindictive look, lifting his leg, and peeing an ocean on the one thing I love most. This can be anything from my favorite couch to my bed. Have you ever seen how much an English Mastiff pees? It’s the equivalent to Noah’s flood. I have learned to guard my belongings like they are the Ark of the Covenant for 48 hours after I return from vacation.

As if the post vacation pee isn’t enough to prove that my dog is an asshole, he does yet another move that I call “The trampoline.” My dog lays on his own memory foam dog bed until he sees an opportunity to take advantage of me. When I am at my sickest, laying in bed with the flu or a terrible cold, my dog waits until I am at my most nauseous point before preceding to jump on my bed and bound on me like Bambie leaping through a forest. After feeling my body get thrown around on my bed as if I was on a trampoline, my dog will finally get off, then take his squeakiest squeaky toy, bring it to me, push his head as close to my face as he can and precede to squeak this toy as rapidly and loudly as possible for an extended period of time. If I am still unresponsive to his advances, Bear-Bear takes things to phase 3 of torture- dropping his drool-covered, very heavy bone on my face.

In addition to all of this, Bear-Bear is a physical barrier to any opportunity of human love what so ever. He believes that the only one that is allowed to be physically close to me is himself- of which he demonstrates frequently by stomping or sitting on my feet and rubbing his drool covered lips over me when I am wearing my nicest clothes- or clothes of any sort for that matter. If a friend ever comes over to my house and tries to even hug me, Bear-Bear does a strange move that reminds me of a grizzly bear and shoves the person off of me by body slamming them.  Then he sits on my feet, between my friend and me, gives me a sweet look before shooting them the stink-eye.

Despite the fact that my dog can be an asshole, I love every thing about him. He will never judge me and is always happy to see me no matter how I look. When I dance like a crazy person to techno music, he always dances with me. When I am crying, he leaves his favorite toys on my lap and when I need a friend, he is always there.