Bitch
Roscoe and Mabel were being so good this morning, we decided to give them each a nice rawhide bone to chew on. Mabel settled in with hers on the kitchen floor, working it with her razor-sharp baby teeth while Roscoe just stared at her with his bone hanging out of his mouth like an old cigar. This went on for a good half hour - Mabel workin' it and Roscoe staring.
It's not normal for Roscoe to leave a chew-toy unchewed, especially one that's in his mouth (like most bulldog breeds, he's basically a powerful jaw on four stubby legs), so I decided to break him from his trance and give him a little encouragement to get busy with that thing. I picked him up and set him on my lap and held his bone like a lolly-pop. Immediately, he started in on it. There's great comfort in knowing your dog is pre-occupied with a quiet chewing activity while you read the paper or go to the bathroom or obsess about your own 'bone' for the day, so I was relieved to get Roscoe back into the spirit of things after seeing him stare Mabel down.
After about 15 minutes of quiet, I set Roscoe on the floor with his bone. He went under the kitchen table, cautiously keeping an eye out for Mabel. Mabel heard Roscoe on the floor, came into the kitchen to seek him out for some playtime, went under the kitchen table and Roscoe became a SAVAGE, SCREACHING BEAST, like the kind of panicky, bulge-eyed Chihuahau's you see on 'The Dog Whisperer' and shake your head over because clearly they should be put in the microwave these animals that only a psycho could love.
Setting aside the fact that Roscoe learned this behavior from a friend's Chihuahua that is EXACTLY that kind of dog, I'm coming to the conclusion that I may not have the patience or time or whatever it's gonna take to make these animals work together. I'm willing to surrender my ego and manly pride to the reality that I just don't wanna fuckin' deal with it. Why did we get this puppy in the first place? Did we go through this when we got Roscoe as a pup? What kind of father will I be? I don't mean 'dog-father', I mean 'father-father'. Of a human baby. How the hell am I gonna handle that?
And now, they're playing like dogs on a greeting card after having napped quietly in the office while I've been writing this.
Merry Friggin' Christmas.
