Wednesday, August 25, 2004

40 Pounds of Jealous Canine Muscle

I like dogs. You may have gathered that through my job description; that is, Dog Walker.

However much I may enjoy my canine charges, the big spot in my heart is reserved for my own dopey dumb dumbs, Max.

Why? You may ask why I would love such an unwieldly, undistinguished beast, particularly when I have daily contact with pedigreed, adorable lap dogs. A dog who is so smart that he KNOWS every command we give, yet chooses to ignore them unless we have a treat in hand. A dog who has figured out how to open the closet door to chew on the world's most coveted and tasty treat, Tim's dress shoes.

A dog who, though he rarely if ever indulges, sniffs only the crotches of the very old or the crotches of blooming young adolescent girls. He's a veritable crotchrometer, that one.

Why do I love him so?

Because Max (the handsome, amiable, friendly to human and dog alike and receiver of never-ending compliments) has a sixth sense for lecherous, pathetic loser guys who are checking me out. He is also willing to jump on them, and growl mightily.

Note that "lecherous pathetic" is the operative referent. The "lecherous pathetic" aspect tends to be emphasized when said man is jumping away from my 40 pounds of jealous canine angst.

Cute, appealing men are welcome. Max won't jump on you. Tim might, though.

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