Life happens: The saga of the bald puppy
By Aprill Brandon
This is a story of how a puppy ruined my life. And not just any puppy. An ugly, wrinkled, bald puppy. An ugly, wrinkled, bald puppy who doesn't even know proper butt sniffing etiquette.
But I get ahead of myself. First, allow me to introduce myself. Or reintroduce, as the case may be. You may remember me from the last time I took over Aprill's column.
I'm Buffy, her long-suffering male dog. Oh yes, you read that right, male dog. Apparently, being a Joss Whedon fan means you no longer have to acknowledge gender when coming up with a pet name to impress your stupid, geeky friends. Never mind the psychological damage you inflict on said poor animal when the Dukes and Princesses of the world get wind of the name.
Dogs may be man's best friend, but they can be complete jerks to their own kind (butt sniffing is not nearly as innocent an act as you guys assume). You'd think taking my manhood when I was a puppy (a puppy, for canine's sake) would be enough emasculation for any creature, but oh, oh, no. Let's also add a frilly name from an obsolete '90s show that only people with extensive knowledge of their parents' basement watched.
Not that I'm bitter or anything.
But back to the bigger issue.
Now, when they first brought the bald puppy home, I thought it was great. My very own interactive chew toy complete with never-ending battery and super gross smells.
Unfortunately, within the first 30 seconds of our initial meeting, it was made clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that this was not the case. I swear, that stupid crying lump's first words are going to be "Buffy" followed by "No" followed by, "I said no, dammit."
And things only went downhill from there. For instance, every time the bald puppy cried (which was a lot, by the way), I would growl and bark. In my mind, the only reason for any creature to make that much noise is when there is an imminent threat to all of our very lives, such as the neighbor from three houses down had closed a door or the wind blew through a tree in Delaware. So I was simply trying to help the bald puppy alert our owners that there was obviously an emergency on hand, such as the mailman was on our porch and was probably going to pee on all the spots in the yard I had peed on.
Incredibly courteous of me, right?
Alas, Loud One and Spiky Head (my not-so-affectionate nicknames for my owners) didn't see it this way. I was told, rather rudely, to shut up and then threatened with not just a rolled-up magazine but a rolled-up September Vogue magazine (the leading cause of concussions in dogs).
Meanwhile, the bald puppy, who was making just as much noise as I was (if not more) was cuddled and actually rewarded for his whiny bark with food.
My very favorite thing in the entire world beside ball and rolling around in dead things.
Can you believe it?
And as if all that wasn't bad enough, when I wasn't getting yelled at, I was being completely ignored. Judging by the smell, the bald puppy was going potty every hour or something insane like that - inside the freaking house. Which is something I've never been allowed to do if I don't want to see the business end of the Sunday Times.
They even put a wonderful poo catcher on his butt so he could do it whenever he wanted. And I'm all over here, like, hey, I haven't gone outside in 14 hours. But don't mind me. I'll just slunk off to the corner and eat my dog food ... oh wait, my bowl is empty.
It was getting ridiculous.
So then, deciding to make nice with the bald puppy, who was obviously here to stay, I began licking his face (mainly aiming for directly into the mouth, of course) whenever he happened to be within tongue's reach. And I tell you what, I would get no more than six licks in when Loud One would suddenly push me away.
Knock it off, she said.
Buff, that's gross, she said.
Well, let me tell you something, lady. You're gross. Not to mention a hypocrite. I've seen you stick your tongue down Spiky Head's throat many a time, so you can just get off your high horse.
But before you go thinking that my owners are just absolutely horrible people, I should mention that they are trying to make it up to me. I get extra treats all the time now and during those brief moments when the bald baby is asleep in his giant crate, they shower me with love.
And in their defense, they do look horrible these days.
I'm starting to think they're being punished by the bald puppy just as much as I am. Apparently, he is the new Alpha, and we all exist merely to satisfy his every whim (even if that whim is to walk him in a giant counterclockwise circle for three hours while singing "Close To You" by The Carpenters at 3 a.m.)
But let this be a lesson to all you other dogs out there. If your female owner starts to look like she has a giant ball hidden underneath her shirt, run.
Run away as fast as you can.
Hide out in the neighbor's yard until the bald puppy is old enough to start dropping food on the floor.
Aprill Brandon is a columnist for the Advocate. Her column runs every two weeks in the Your Life section. Comment on this story at VictoriaAdvocate.com.