Something smells rancid.

my bad dog!

my bad dog!

I find myself scrubbing the shit out of the hallway carpet, literally. I’m on my hands and knees like one of those ‘happy domestics’ in old commercials–except I’m not at all happy. Actually, I’m quite bitter.

The stain is stubborn. My knees are sore. Finally, as brown fades to wilted yellow, I bow to the stain and accept it’s shadow as an ominous presence that will haunt me my entire life.

My dog stares at the mess he made, seemingly contented.
He has created his legacy.

And I wonder who owns who?

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4 thoughts on “Something smells rancid.

  1. IF you really think about it, anyone looking down at us from above, ie out in space, would think that it’s actually our dogs who own us!

    they walk in front, sometimes run, as we hold on to the leash and look as if we’re slaves who must keep up with their master… a master who can stop anytime, anywhere they wish to do their thing – all over the trees, the grass, and even other slaves!

    after they’re finished, we slaves must scoop it up, put on a fake smile as if to tell the world that we’re actually quite happy about cleaning up the mess and making the world a better place… and then after marking his ground, our master decides to chase and confront another master – a bigger, meaner-looking master pulling around his own slave, and begins to show his alpha male qualities by barking loud enough for the entire street to hear.

    as if this wasn’t enough, if we accidentally upset our master for any reason whatsoever he will stop, turn around, and with an angry expression on his face will begin to slowly show us his razor sharp teeth, one by one as if to say “Russell! SOMEBODY gonna get a hurt real bad!” and threatens to bark louder than ever, humiliating us in front of all the other slaves to show his dominance over us.

    so really… who owns who?

    • That’s hilarious!!

      But, I must admit that my cat pwns me much more often than my dog. At least my dog earns his keep by paying me in affection. My cat eats, sleeps and jumps on my keyboard. He only graces me with his presence when he wants his belly scratched. My dog doesn’t even mess with my cat.

      Hmm…maybe my dog is my master but we’re both under the rule of king cat.

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