Today, I fucked up by wanting to pet a cute doggy.
My doggy. So yes, I’m biased. Still:
It’s 630AM. I stumble downstairs to get my wife’s lunch together for school (shut up, she’s a teacher). And there’s Buster, his entire body whipsawing back and forth under the force of his tail-wagging joy at the reminder that I exist as an entity. He’s already been on a three-mile run with my wife that morning, but is he the slightest bit tired? Heavens no.
I stump over to the coffee maker. Buster jams himself between me and it, his desire for Pettins an almost palpable form hanging in the air, his big soulful eyes following me like a junkie tracking a hit. I decide (well, it’s decided for me) that the Booboo better have his felt needs addressed, and I lean over to pet him, give him ear-scratchings, etc. You know the drill.
Buster, however, feels that the time it’s taking me to lean down is altogether untenable and decides to meet me halfway up. He launches all seventy-five pounds of lanky half-Chocolate Lab/ half Weimaraner muscle up at me with the speed of a thousand lasers. His weaponized skull, which I swear to Christ must be made of Adamantium or some shit, connects with my face so hard the air around us ignites. There is a massive PA-PLOOM as my eyeballs bounce off the back of the inside of my (surely freakin’ liquified) skull, purple and green shockwaves ricocheting around behind my eyelids.
I get back onto my feet (oh yeah: my lil’ Boo laid me the fuck out) and claw my way up to the kitchen sink, blood geysering everywhere from my destroyed nose. I do what any sane man would do, which is bellow something along the lines of “OH YOU FUCKING DOG” over and over again whilst bleeding into the plumbing.
This of course prompts my wife to come charging out of the bathroom, all naked and soapy from the shower, which in any other situation would be just fine with me. However, I am still shrieking invective into the sink, so I don’t actually see this. What I hear, however, is the squeak and thudity-thud of her being bodily tackled by a thoroughly freaked-out dog who is learning more about the world being a confusing place every day.
Anyhoo. Buster has calmed down now. I mopped the blood off of the floor and gave him his antler to gnaw to pieces as a calming exercise. He’s taking his mid-morning nap now. My wife was able to rinse the blood, soap and dog hair off and still get out the door on time. I’ve been sitting here with a bag of frozen peas across my eyes, hoping the shiners aren’t too bad by the time I have to go to work myself.
This is Buster. He’s my buddy and I love him very much, but omigod fuck him so much right now.