Why I Can't Beat the Dog
Michele feels that physical abuse is fairly alright when it comes to humans. Kid knocks something expensive over? Cuff him on the side of the head and tell him to bugger off. Children need to be disciplined.
The dog, however, is not. Although constantly referred to as "the child," if I were to lay a hand on Cisco for anything, then it would be my butt in the toaster--that is, Michele would react violently. She tells me that you can't hit dogs because they won't know why you hit them...they will only know that you did. They won't be able to determine cause and effect and so hitting them would simply be cruel.
Now, I can buy this. It doesn't bother me too much, even though sometimes it would sure make me feel better to swat the little son of a bitch around when he won't shut up during a movie. She's the boss, and it's her dog, so I'll just have to learn to get over it.
I made myself a pair of toasted cheese sandwiches about noon. They were promising to be yummy. They were greasy, cheesy, brittle on the outside and soft in the middle.
I left them on the cupboard to cool after pulling them fresh out of the sandwich griddle.
I returned about two minutes later to find both sandwiches gone. And a trail of slobber on my plate, which was on the edge of the cupboard.
Some of you may know how I feel about food. You wanna die? Get between a fat kid and his lunch. It's guaranteed suicide, and I don't care how many years of judo you've had or how big you are. You will suffer.
That may be the closest I've come to killing an animal with my bare hands. That fuzzy bastard is lucky Michele hadn't gone to work yet, because I was in a hunger-induced McClellan rage, which makes hardened Vietnam vets dive for cover.
Michele made me another sandwich. She couldn't understand my anger, and didn't appreciate the analogy I made. I said, "How would you feel if you had just given birth to beautiful twins and had left the room for a moment and came back and they were both missing from the cradle and the dog was sitting there licking his chops?"
She claimed it was not even comparable.
She has much to learn in this life.
The dog, however, is not. Although constantly referred to as "the child," if I were to lay a hand on Cisco for anything, then it would be my butt in the toaster--that is, Michele would react violently. She tells me that you can't hit dogs because they won't know why you hit them...they will only know that you did. They won't be able to determine cause and effect and so hitting them would simply be cruel.
Now, I can buy this. It doesn't bother me too much, even though sometimes it would sure make me feel better to swat the little son of a bitch around when he won't shut up during a movie. She's the boss, and it's her dog, so I'll just have to learn to get over it.
I made myself a pair of toasted cheese sandwiches about noon. They were promising to be yummy. They were greasy, cheesy, brittle on the outside and soft in the middle.
I left them on the cupboard to cool after pulling them fresh out of the sandwich griddle.
I returned about two minutes later to find both sandwiches gone. And a trail of slobber on my plate, which was on the edge of the cupboard.
Some of you may know how I feel about food. You wanna die? Get between a fat kid and his lunch. It's guaranteed suicide, and I don't care how many years of judo you've had or how big you are. You will suffer.
That may be the closest I've come to killing an animal with my bare hands. That fuzzy bastard is lucky Michele hadn't gone to work yet, because I was in a hunger-induced McClellan rage, which makes hardened Vietnam vets dive for cover.
Michele made me another sandwich. She couldn't understand my anger, and didn't appreciate the analogy I made. I said, "How would you feel if you had just given birth to beautiful twins and had left the room for a moment and came back and they were both missing from the cradle and the dog was sitting there licking his chops?"
She claimed it was not even comparable.
She has much to learn in this life.
posted by Brian at
3:03 PM
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