Poodles are to dogs as cheese whiz is to camembert
This past weekend, Layne and I headed down to Regina to visit our respective moms. I had supper with his folks on Friday, and then spent the rest of the weekend with my family.
It was great seeing everyone again. I did a little gardening with my mom, cruised around town with my brother listening to loud, angry music, and sat around reading comics with my sister. In fact, we probably would have just hung around talking all weekend if it hadn't have been my grandmother's birthday was on Saturday. She was in town visiting, so we threw a combined birthday/mother's day supper that amounted to throwing some burgers on the grill and buying an ice cream cake. It was pretty laid back.
It would have been even more of a relaxing weekend if it weren't for the poodles. My mom's friend is moving to Australia this week, and she's staying with my mom until her flight leaves. Leaving with her are the smallest, most useless little demons I've ever met. One was completely neurotic, and spent most of the weekend cowering on her owner's lap. When her owner wasn't around. she was absolutely scared out of her mind. If there were any thoughts in that tiny little noodle of hers, they probably went something like, "big things, loud things, fast things, all around me...going to get me with the hurting and the smashing and the yipe..."
The other thought he was entitled to everything, but especially people's laps, and if you didn't lean down to pick him up immediately, he would nip at you until you did. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, and the little bugger started trying to chew off my toe. He might even have succeeded, except that my socks were too thick for his tiny teeth to penetrate. (We're talking thin cotton socks here, not those big wool ones.) Obviously, his owner had never introduced the idea of discipline to him, because when I bapped him on the nose, he retreated to another room and would have nothing to do with me afterwards. Every once in a while, I would catch him watching me, and he would snarl with his tiny fangs, and then run away yelping. Goddamn furball...
I love dogs. I really do. These obviously were not dogs.
It was great seeing everyone again. I did a little gardening with my mom, cruised around town with my brother listening to loud, angry music, and sat around reading comics with my sister. In fact, we probably would have just hung around talking all weekend if it hadn't have been my grandmother's birthday was on Saturday. She was in town visiting, so we threw a combined birthday/mother's day supper that amounted to throwing some burgers on the grill and buying an ice cream cake. It was pretty laid back.
It would have been even more of a relaxing weekend if it weren't for the poodles. My mom's friend is moving to Australia this week, and she's staying with my mom until her flight leaves. Leaving with her are the smallest, most useless little demons I've ever met. One was completely neurotic, and spent most of the weekend cowering on her owner's lap. When her owner wasn't around. she was absolutely scared out of her mind. If there were any thoughts in that tiny little noodle of hers, they probably went something like, "big things, loud things, fast things, all around me...going to get me with the hurting and the smashing and the yipe..."
The other thought he was entitled to everything, but especially people's laps, and if you didn't lean down to pick him up immediately, he would nip at you until you did. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, and the little bugger started trying to chew off my toe. He might even have succeeded, except that my socks were too thick for his tiny teeth to penetrate. (We're talking thin cotton socks here, not those big wool ones.) Obviously, his owner had never introduced the idea of discipline to him, because when I bapped him on the nose, he retreated to another room and would have nothing to do with me afterwards. Every once in a while, I would catch him watching me, and he would snarl with his tiny fangs, and then run away yelping. Goddamn furball...
I love dogs. I really do. These obviously were not dogs.
posted by Alina at
3:43 PM
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