Wednesday 30 January 2013

Buster Can Be an Asshole

I have been feeling a little under the weather for the past few days and have spent my time watching TV, surfing the internet, playing mindless games, sleeping and for some of the time I have been watching Buster.

Everyone should take the time to watch a dog, it is very interesting and makes you wonder where the saying “It’s a dogs life.” comes from. It is used to mean that life is hard and unforgiving. I don’t see it myself and I would bet that Mr. Webster or Mr. Funk and Wagnalls never had occasion to be around a dog.

Buster pretty much ignores me unless I have a doggie treat in my hand or he needs a warm lap to sleep on. He sleeps for a good portion of every day, but then I have been lately too. I tried to get him to watch “Dogs with Jobs” today, but he didn’t seem interested at all. I really can’t blame him; almost no one I know would willingly work if they didn’t have to.

What I find very strange is his habit of looking out of the window. I will look out the window too, but I am looking at cars driving by, the snow blowing off of the roof and the mailman walking up the walk to drop off those flyers. Poor bastard! Buster doesn’t seem to see the same things that I see, in fact things that I think he should bark at he doesn’t even notice. We have a couple of squirrels that run back and forth in front of the window all day and he doesn’t even look at them.

He will sit and stare at nothing for about twenty minutes, not moving a muscle. I get up and look to see if there is a rabbit or another dog/cat or really anything, but he is looking at nothing. Then, all of a sudden he jumps up and starts to barking like alien cats are landing their space ship just out front of the house. He jumps down and runs to the back door and then comes back to look out the window again, as if to say “Get up and get the shotgun you stupid human!” Then he runs off and out the back door barking as if his life depended on it.

You would think he would run to the front gate to bark, but stupid animal that he is, he goes to the back corner of the yard and barks at the fence. I am sure it makes sense in that tiny brain of his, but for the life of me I just don’t get it. Perhaps he is trying to justify his upkeep by scaring the shit out of me every now and then as if to prove that he would be useful if anyone actually broke into the house.

The little bastard will do it at two in the morning sometimes. He stands up on the bed and barks like some machete wielding maniac is standing at the foot of the bed trying to decide to kill Louise or me first. I of course have to pretend to be the brave man and get out of the warm bed and check to see if some homicidal maniac actually did break into the house. That is just what I want to do in the middle of the night, confront some psycho slasher while wearing my pj’s in the dark. What would I do if someone was there? I’d run for the nearest door screaming “Save yourself, I’m going for helpppp…” Of course there never is anyone in the house and after banging my toes on table legs, I make my way back to bed only to find Buster curled up in the warm spot that I had left ten minutes earlier.

It is hard to get back to sleep with the adrenaline flowing through your veins, especially when every few minutes Buster gives a throaty bark that sounds suspiciously like a muffled laugh.

Buster can be an asshole.

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