I hate your dogs

I’m siting on my porch because Duquesne Light is the worst energy supplier of all time and I realizes something: I hate your dogs. Let me be clear here: I don’t hate ALL pets. Just “yours.” The obnoxious ball of fluff you purchased to add spice to your otherwise insipid life. The pet you couldn’t bother to train not to bark at every movement. The pet you never taught not to needlessly bare their teeth at other dogs. Your dogs named Sophie, Archie, and Bob. Did you think you were clever giving your uncouth hellhound a name like it’s people? You’re a dickhead and so is Bob.

I typically love dogs and they love me. I love when they know their boundaries and only poop indoors when something has gone awry. I love when they toe the line of disrespect, but know the score when you say, “No.” I have some friends with a trusty black lab named Ares. He’s the type of dog you see in movies, who gets separated from his family in a cross country move; but after some dodgy encounters with the dogcatcher and a rattlesnake, right when they’ve given up hope, you see him bounding over the hillside toward his family with a ladybug on his shoulder named Mrs. Tuppence who believed in him the whole time. He’s that kind of dog. If you told him “go to bed,” he’d go. He’s come back, because he’s a dog, but he’d go. One night after too much of something called Death Juice, he stood watch over my fallen form until daylight. If I spent too much time in my laptop, he’d put his face on the keyboard to remind me that he’s still important and needs some ear scratchin’.

But you don’t have to be a Disney type dog to garner affection. I’ve snuggled with my fair share excitable chihuahuas and Yorkies, but there was an event to make them excited. And they didn’t sound like they were perpetually heralding the presence of Satan. Not like my neighbors’ dogs

Sophie and Frenchie.

Each neighbor directly across from me owns a small dog — one Pekingese and one pug (a breed which I normally ADORE). And if you told me a maniac kidnapped both puppers, and fired them into space I would say, “Mm,” and continue to sip my tea. Because fuck Sophie and Frenchie. They bark when the day breaks and when night falls. They bark when it rains and when the sun shines. The bark because the other one is barking. And my neighbors offer toothless threats that either involve screaming “SHADDAP!” or simply saying “FRENCHIE!/SOPHIE!” I often fantasize about putting Frenchie (the worst of the two) on the back of a truck headed to a dairy farm, where she could finish out the rest of her loud ass days. Sophie is just a punkass follower, so I don’t respect her. She doesn’t even know why she’s barking. She just knows that Frenchie is barking so fuck it.

It’s a real masturbatory mood killer when I’m trying to play in the garden in the wee hours, and those two begin their cacophony of fuck shit. So train your crazy ass dogs! And stop giving them people names like dickheads. That way your neighbor might hate you just a little less.

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