Friday, September 15, 2006

Jekyll and Hyde, the Dog Version

I might have mentioned that I have The Chewingest Dog. Do any
of you remember that old children's book, The Diggingest Dog?
Well...that's what I've got, in the chewy variety.

This morning, I backed the large SUV out of the too-small garage.
This was no easy feat, I might add, what with 2 inches of clearance
on each side for the mirrors. It's a good thing HH wasn't already
standing there waiting for us to come home. #1 son hollered, "Hey,
what's that?" Like I would know, because I'm the mom, and moms
know everything, until it comes to telling the children something
they don't want to hear, and then we become blithering idiots, or
pieces of furniture.

It was a brightly-colored neon greeny-yellow thingy. I thought it
was somebody's water shoes that the infernal dog had chewed
up. I swear she has chewed an entire book that I have been
waiting on for two weeks now. There have been some suspicious
remnants of that flat white packing foam in the yard under the
yucca plants. That is Doggie Ann's preferred hiding place. I
figure she accepted the package from UPS, thought to herself,
this is going to be delicious, and devoured it and most of the
evidence before we got home. I can't prove it, though.

#1 son wanted me to stop so he could look at it. He poked it
with his toe. He picked it up. It was a half-eaten dog collar. Now
I fear we have become personas not grata to the new family who
moved into the LandStealer's house. What with Doggie Ann
eating their small dog. Because the collar was for a small yippy
dog. It had a rabies tag, and a worn-out pink tag that did not
have the dog or owner's name on it. HH says it's no good anyway,
that the rabies tag says '2005'. Duh. I said, "Well, if the shot was
in December 2005, I reckon that the tag is still good." Once again,
HH stands corrected. At least he doesn't stand in the garage.

I asked #1 son to take a picture. You'd think I'd asked him to
rub lotion on HH's athlete's feet. That boy will not do anything I
ask until after WWIII has broken out, been fought, prisoners of
war released, and a treaty signed on the dotted line. He is pure
evil, I tell you. He is the Devil's Handmaiden.

I say that because the boy screams like a woman when scared,
or when bored, or generally just to scare the pee out of me. I don't
think he could actually BE The Devil's Handmaiden, because I don't
think The Devil would have a boy for his Handmaiden. Especially
a boy who declares about 1000 times per day: "I farts." No, The
Devil would have to create another title for a boy Handmaiden.
Something cool, like Lord of the Netherworld, Personal Assistant
to the World-Renowned Lucifer, Prince of Darkness. Because
all crappy jobs have to have a cool title, or nobody would apply
for them.

I think The Devil would have trouble filling that Handmaiden position.
Because a girly-girl would not want to traipse around Hell day and
night for all eternity, what with the oppressive heat making her skin
red as a boiled lobster, and causing her to apply massive quantities
of underboob deodorant to stop the rivulets of sweat, but I figure
her hair would be OK, because I get the feeling that it's a dry heat.
I don't think even those Girls Next Door who are shacking up with
Hef at the other mansion would take the Handmaiden position.
Perhaps that's because their souls have already been auctioned on
the courthouse steps.

A boy-girl wouldn't put up with any sh*t from Old Scratch. She
would kick his behind and probably stab him with his own tail as
the piece de resistance. No underboob deodorant for a boy-girl!
She would have a sports bra to achieve that uniboob look that
is OH SO POPULAR in Oklahoma, according to Redneck Diva,
and a fleecy sweatshirt to absorb the boob sweat.

Anyhoo...what was I talking about again? Oh yeah...the chewy
dog. Here is some of the evidence:

Exhibit 1

are you

I would
never do
such a
thing. I
just found
this old

rag laying about the yard. I think Grizzly must have brought it home.
And now that you mention it, I'm sure I saw him burying something
over by the barn. Good luck and all, finding out the guilty party in
this mischief. I'll keep my ears open."

"Heh, heh.
What are
YOU lookin'
at? You can't
catch ME!

I ain't talkin'.
I know you
have to go
to work all
week. I am

Supreme Master of the Mansion then. I even have packages
delivered here. Don't mess with me. I'm half Shepherd, you know.
The left half. So run along now. And if I may be so bold...that man-
fellow could make better use of his time mowing this yard than
standing in the garage waiting for you to come home. It's not like
you make The Incredible Journey every day, now is it?"

At least she didn't eat a door, like DeadpanAnn's Sweet Tea.


Sissy said...

ick, I hate boob sweat. Worse? Man boob sweat...!

Cazzie!!! said...

One of my kids' favourite books is the digingest dog..and then comes the book, "Harry and his bucket full of Dinosaurs"..followed by The Magic FAraway Tree"

LanternLight said...

A boy-girl wouldn't put up with any sh*t from Old Scratch.

A boy-girl, what the heck is that? Is that like a Lady-boy?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yeah. That reminds me of Ben Stiller playing basketball with that guy in Along Came Polly, and he got a mouthful of the stuff.

I haven't heard of the other two. My kids liked "The Kissing Hand" when they were in first grade. They both like The Magic Treehouse books. Those have history in them, too.

Once upon a time, there was a girl at a school where I taught who had a haircut like a boy. She acted like a girl, but her hair and her clothes were like a boy's. A teacher at the lunch table couldn't think of her name, and said, "You know...Boy-Girl." We also had Beach Ball Head, Stink Feet, Pig Nose, Hat Boy, Stripper Girl, and Orange Coat Girl. We weren't being cruel. It was a kind of shorthand for kids you couldn't think of their names right away. Because some teachers knew their names, but others didn't, so we used the shorthand so as not to take all of our lunch hour describing them. Since then, 'Boy-Girl' has come to mean the girls who dress and act tough, like they'll cut you if you cross them.

Redneck Diva said...

Harry and His Bucket Full of Dinoaurs is a preschool show on Cartoon Network in the early mornings now. Just thought I'd throw that out.

We, too, had a set of diggingest dogs - one was aptly named "Chewy". (I didn't name him, my niece did) Those dogs chewed the seats off of three bikes, the decorative ladder on the front porch, a resin garden gnome in my rock garden, a few cats and had started in on the van tires when we decided that they should either find a new home or they were going to go straight home to Jesus.

Growing up we had a rat terrier who would get soooooo made when we'd lock him in the garage while we were gone that he'd eat the threshold to the kitchen door. He barfed splinters. Talk about an intelligent dog.

Hillbilly Mom said...

It's a wonder nobody has ever thought of de-toothing dogs, kind of like de-clawing cats. Then they wouldn't have to put the biters to sleep--just put up a sign warning: Dog Gums.