Ok let's be honest: he's perfectly fine with Husband. He's less than thrilled with me.
In the past week, he's burned his tongue off*, endured humiliating tortures, and been denied wintertime treats. All because he has the unfortunate happenstance of birth to be reincarnated as a giant Star Wars fluffball with four legs, no arms, and more importantly no thumbs.
Episode IV: A Burnt Tongue
We left for dinner (because we're lazy and neither wanted to do dishes, therefore cooking was utterly out of the question) for a couple hours one evening, Husband forgot to put his Wasabi peas away. If you've never had them, Wasabi Peas are crunchy, shriveled pieces of hell masquerading as "healthy snacks." All that means is once you've burned out your sinus infection or allergies and your eyes stop watering, you'll stop snacking.
When we returned, we found two perfectly sets of perfectly piled peas. Both had the wasabi carefully licked off, both appear to be fully intact peas. Apparently neither dog was impressed with the idea of a good nasal cavity stinging: they BOTH walked right past the piles like someone else left them. Secretly, you see, there are kobolds in my house who LOVE wasabi hell bites, and are just considerate enough to leave the healthy leftovers in easily vacuumed piles.
|One of 2 neatly piled peas...sans Wasabi.|
|Chewy's other pea pile...which he sniffed and left.|
Episode V: The Wampa Strikes Back
I'm somewhat more guilty (a little) about this week's humiliation. If you didn't know, Great Pyrenees grow two coats: one almost like down close tot he skin to regulate body temperature (it's actually somewhat insulating against heat in the summer as well as heating in winter, which doesn't count in Texas since "winter" is a big fat fucking LIE). The second is the super-long, waterproof, leaf/dirt/salamander carrying outer coat, which pretty much 1) turns him into a polar bear and 2) leaves 5" long fine hair everywhere. Also, did I mention bugs and lizards? Both have hitched a ride from the yard into the house on Choo Choo Chewy.
Anyway, we finally broke down and bought a set of clippers after the last incident at the groomers (nobody wants to discuss THAT horrible event), and Husband spent about three hours Sunday shaving the fluff down to an acceptable length. As you can see, someone was less than thrilled with us.
|I fucking HATE you right now.|
Afterward, he stayed 20 feet away from both of us, harrumphing in a corner and glaring accusingly at us both. FINALLY!! I'm always the bad guy, people: this is the first time Husband's received the death-of-1000-suns stare. It's about damn time.
|We found six Wampas in this pile...and an arm.|
Remember how my fuckface dogs have broken almost every glass in my house, and we had to buy plastic cups? We have some coffee mugs left...so far. Yesterday, I came home to this:
|I like your cocoa mug. I left it here so you'd know I WANT SOME.|
Yup, that'd be my hot cocoa mug from the day before (my fault: I left it on the couch table). Notice the SPOON is still in it, the mug was carefully not dropped on the tile from the couch to the door, and Mr. "I like this smell" had fully licked clean any remnants from the bottom of the cup. Sigh. Do you see remorse there?
Yeah. Me neither. Welcome to my dog.