Sunday, December 30, 2012

On the Thirtieth Day of Christ*&^%$

On the Thirtieth Day of Christ*&^%$, TiZ reveals to you...

30 Things Baxter didn’t tell you…

He doesn’t quite know what a puppy mill is but we think he came from one. No one else would be stupid enough to give a puppy away so young.

He’s racist.

He tries to jump Asian men.

He tries to jump Black men.

This is TREMENDOUSLY embarrassing to me.

He is reversed ageist. 

I walk him when school lets out and treat him every time he doesn’t try to jump a kid.

He’s allowed into the Gristedes if I carry him.

I love Gristedes.

He’s allowed into the bodega if no one else is there and I carry him.

I love the bodega.

He does not really like men except for a very special few.

He cries at the church door until Karen comes and pets him.

He thinks big dogs should be challenged at all times.

He likes to sit in my lap as I write.

I do some of my best writing when he is in my lap. 

He is not in my lap right now. Sorry.

He has made one “fuck you” poo.

He has made one “bite me” pee.

I’ve learned my lesson each time.

He insists on being in the bathroom with me.

We continue to work on the separation anxiety.

He gets to sleep with me the last hour of the morning.

After a walk, he runs around my apartment like a mad man, intermittently stopping and looking at me as if to say, “I don’t know why this is happening.  Make it stop.” Then he starts again.

He was so poorly behaved his first week, I wept, “You are the first being I’ve committed to…and it’s for at least a decade.  You have to be good.  You HAVE to be good.  No.  Don’t wag your tail at me.  I can’t even look at you.”

It’s been uphill since then.

He has killed my work ethic.  I would rather play with him.

He sits on my scripts when he’s done with my work.  His timing is in general good.

He has changed my life for the better in so many ways, you can’t imagine.

Maybe you can. I can only imagine you are sick and waaay overtired of me talking about my dog now.  I feel that way about people’s kids.  But you see, he’s mine.  Even though it’s taken a village and I love to share him, he is mine.  I’m the last of five kids.  I never really had much that was just mine.  The dog makes me real.  Or at least the dog makes me FEEL real.  And that’s important.

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