Stop Trying to Kill My Dog
Who the fuck litters?
How are you a person in this world who thinks it’s okay to throw your trash on the ground?
Are you an adult?
Haven’t you seen Fern Gully? Or any movie? Pretty much any movie will tell you that only the worst assholes litter. Or how about that commercial with the Italian guy dressed like an Indian crying about all the litter? Watch anything produced in the last half-century and there will be some message, if maybe implied or obscured, that you shouldn’t litter and you’re a piece of shit if you do.
Who fucking raised you? You and your parents ought to be forced to live in a garbage can. Fucking Oscar the Grouch acting bitches.
Litterers in general are abhorrent shitsacks, but the worst of them are the ones trying to kill my dog.
Logan is a sweet-faced, and mostly sweet-tempered, old pup who lived a hardscrabble youth as a homeless vagabond. Spending his first year or two on the streets, he learned to fight for whatever he could get. Another dog or a person tried to take some food he found, he’d fuck them up.
So goes the semi-invented but probably mostly true origin story I’ve put together for him.
Point is: he’s food aggressive, and he’s always hungry, for anything.
When I say anything, you’ve never met a dog who loves raw cabbage and broccoli stalks as much Logan.
If it has calories and some hint of flavor, and he can fit it in his mouth, he’ll eat it.
Once he gets food, or something he believes is food, in his mouth, he won’t give it up without a fight. For the most part, he’s very well behaved. When I put food in his bowl, he sits like a proper little lad and waits for me to tell him he can eat it. His food and treats are kept in a cupboard on the floor, at his level, that he could definitely push open and raid if he wanted, but he never has. Not since he was very young and semi-feral has he tried stealing food from a table or counter. But if I give him food or put it on the floor, that’s his. If he finds food while we’re on a walk, that is his. He’ll clamp his jaw as tight as he can, and he’ll bite anyone that tries taking anything from it.
If you are a littering piece of shit, and your litter is at all edible, Logan will eat it. Whether you’re intention is to harm my dog or simply to be a disgusting no-account cunt-satchel who doesn’t care, you are horrible and I hate you and may well beat your face in if given the opportunity.
Chicken bones do not biodegrade quickly and are very dangerous if swallowed. When you’re eating chicken wings, it might seem fine to throw the bones on the sidewalk like a Dickensian peasant. If that’s how you feel, you may also think it’s fine to drop your pants and take a shit on the curb. But it’s fucking not. Put your chicken bones in a trash can and drop your shit in a toilet. If there’s no trash can on hand, chances are you have a container, whether a bucket, box, bag, or bowl for your chicken; put the bones in there and dispose of them later. If you’re truly at a loss, dig a small hole for your bones and poop and bury them.
The worst is when people put their bones into the container, but then throw that on the street. A few years ago, Logan got his jaws around a plastic bag full of chicken bones. There was a high probability he’d choke if he managed to swallow the thing. I had to pry his mouth open and pull it out. He bit me several times for my trouble.
Not all food itself is harmful, but leaving it in plastic, foil, foam, or thick paper could make it deadly.
Just the other day, Logan tried to swallow a small piece of sandwich, wrapped in aluminum foil and left on the side of the road. I got most of it away from him, but got bit, and my hands smelled like cream cheese, bacon and saliva for long after the ordeal.
Who the fuck can’t finish a damn sandwich? And if you’re such a small-stomached, vitality-lacking bitch who just couldn’t possibly handle two more bites, why is your solution to throw the remainder of it on the street? Wrap it up and take it home. Save it for later. But if the thought of that is even too much for your bitch-ass little self, and you need to be rid of that piece of sandwich, don’t throw it on the street with the goddamn foil. I don’t want my dog eating your stupid nasty sandwich at all, but it’s not the worst thing if he does. Eating a golfball sized lump of foil is a different story.
It’s easy to say Logan is a savage dumb-dumb, but fuck you if you take that route. Who’s dumber, the dog who doesn’t have the fingers and thumbs to open a bag or unwrap some foil? Or the dumb-shit ding-dong who throws that shit on the street? You, you dumb-shit littering ding-dong douche bag. Fuck you.
Besides, you and I both know damn well that no one, dog or not, can resist the combination of bacon and cream cheese.
This isn’t one of the many articles in which I detail a problem and then present a novel solution of varying sincerity. This is a problem where the only solution is for you to act like a fucking adult and put your trash in the trash can. That’s it. Don’t be an asshole. Bye bye.