A lot of people come up to me on the street and say "Hey Six, why do you write about your dog so much? Is it because of all those head injuries? It is isn't it? Flagoogababble."
That's a very good question and one I will answer just as soon as Lu reminds me of what it was. Except for that Flagoogababble remark. That's just uncalled for.
What were we talking about? Oh right. I think it's mostly because I'm pretty sure he won't sue me. At least he says he won't and that's good enough for me. Especially since without opposable thumbs he can't open the food cabinet though he has tried. I've seen him bark at it repeatedly while pawing the floor and even giving it his best poor little hungry puppy look but to no avail. As long as he likes to eat and doesn't figure out that he can replace me with an easily influenced two year old I'm safe. Which brings me to the topic of the post for the day.
My dog thinks his butt is attacking him.
Now understand, I'm not saying Angus is dumb or anything. In spite of the fact that I can pretend to throw his ball while clumsily hiding it under one of my many rolls of thigh fat. He looks around madly in the sure and certain hope that he will espy it and then doggy joy will erupt all over the living room rug. Then when he can't find it and I produce it triumphantly from 'neath a mountain of sweaty flesh he is always surprised and delighted. And by surprised and delighted I of course mean offended and a little disgusted.
Disgust at perspiration covered tennis balls aside I have come to the conclusion that Angus has no earthly idea what some of his bodily functions are. What bodily functions are those you ask? And well you might for Angus' malady may very well strike a dog of your own acquaintance. So, you know, buyer beware and all that.
Angus is convinced that evil spirits inhabit his anular region. When he passes gas he will leap up from whatever area of repose he is currently occupying and spin round and round, obviously looking for whatever ghost has just had the temerity to erupt from his nether regions. He will then spend the next half hour carefully grooming himself in a way that would acceptable only to dogs, cats or Japanese fetish porn stars, all whilst keeping a wary eye out for the Evil Butt Faeries.
I think it may actually be Canine Gastrointestinal Abruptness Syndrome or Canine GAS for short. Because nothing says comedy like a witty acronym. And if one comes along I'll be sure to let you know. I'm not going to suggest that to Angus though. He prefers his truth to be like his friends. You know, simple and easily digestible.
I've tried not to laugh because Angus hates it when I fall to the floor in mad giggles. He considers it an affront to his dignity and will punish me unmercifully by doing absolutely the same things he does every day with the occasional sulk thrown in just to remind me that he never forgets. Which means about 5 minutes though that is an eternity in Labrador timekeeping. And let me tell ya, for those 5 minutes his revenge is brutal.
It's even worse when he's eaten something he's not supposed to. Like an entire frozen Chorizo pizza with extra habanero chili peppers that he snouged off the kitchen counter when my back was turned for 1.5 milliseconds. Cardboard, plastic wrapper and all. Then his farts possess additional force as well as a smell that's so far off the odoriferous scale it would give Scoville nasal warts. Then he rockets off Lu's chair and does the butt drag across the carpet thing all the while casting suspicious and accusatory looks at me. As if I'm the one responsible for his gustatory indiscretions. He gets a real confused look on his face and peers at his poopery expulsion equipment with a baffled expression that can only be described as surprise over a betrayal by one's best friend.
Angus obviously understands the pooping thing as he does it with such gusto. Especially on the neighbors lawn though only when they're watching of course. Peeing is also no problem for him. Though he has yet to grasp the whole lifting the leg and peeing on objects at embarrassing times move that other guy's male dogs do. Yes, he's a squatter and occasionally pees on his front paws. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Not at all. Anyone who says different is clearly a racist. Besides, Angus claims it's a beauty treatment and who am I to argue the point? The guy who's shoes he's not peeing on, that's who.
So Angus has a basic grasp of the elimination thing. I'm not sure why the passing of effluvient gas would be different but it is. I've considered sending him to one of those doggie therapists, like the one who convinces the Obama's dog that they're not actually fattening him up for Christmas dinner, but decided that if I can live with it so can he. He just needs to suck it up and do what the rest of us do in such circumstances. Deny everything and blame it on the neighbors dog.
I feel certain the whole thing is a plot by the cats. There's just no way they're not up to something illicit and slightly unsavory.
Unless there really are Evil Poopy Gas Gnomes. In which case I owe Angus a really big apology.