Wednesday, April 28, 2010

A Letter to Newton, My Mentally Challenged Stepdog

Dear Newton,

First of all, I need to make something clear to you.  You are not my dog.  You are Theresa's dog, which means that while she is forced to love you unconditionally, I'm am under no such obligation.  I happen to like Theresa, so I'm pretty much stuck with you.  But my love is VERY conditional, so I believe it's only sporting of me to make a few things clear so you can't plead ignorance when someday I beat you to death with my TaylorMade seven iron. 

Condition 1: Stay the Hell Off My Pillow

It's bad enough that Theresa lets you sleep under the covers, but apparently that's not good enough for you.  Every night, after I've gotten all ready for bed, there you are curled up on my pillow.  MY pillow, Flea-face, not yours.  When I give you "the look", that means you're supposed to move, not look the other way and pretend you don't see me.  When I say, "NEWTON MOVE YOUR ASS!" I know you can hear me because you can hear the sound of a Cheez-It hitting tile from three rooms away.  I've sacrificed part of the bed for you, buddy, leave my pillow alone.

Condition 2: Do Not Under Any Circumstances Piss in the House

Perhaps you've noticed that since we've moved to the new house you've been wearing a diaper.  That's to keep you from, as dog-lovers so adorably put it, "marking your territory" on the carpet, bookcases, furniture, and most recently, a 100-dollar pair of Giorgio Brutini snakeskin loafers.  And don't play innocent with me, my friend.  I know that you know you're not supposed to whiz on things.  Otherwise, when I catch you at it you'd just look all confused, not run the hell away and hide under the bed.  Which reminds me, when you're curled up under the bed and you feel a metal object poking you in the ribcage (it's called a seven-iron, make a note of it), that means you're supposed to get out from there.

Condition 3: You Are Not in Leavenworth, So Stop Trying to Escape

Look, between you and me, if you really want to run away I'll be more than happy to pack you a little backpack full of Snausages and tennis balls and bid you a fond adieu.  Hell, tell me where you want to go and I'll drive you there.  But that would break Theresa's heart and I'd somehow get blamed for it, so let me just explain this to you and be done with it.  If you have to squeeze your head and body through cast-iron bars, that means you're going someplace you're not supposed to.  Like the other day, when our kindly neighbor hunted you down on the next cul-de-sac and brought you home.  Three times.  It makes you seem ungrateful.  What, the Ginger Snaps aren't up to your standards?  The freaking fireplace isn't warming your scrawny backside efficiently enough?  Careful what you wish for, pal, someday no one's gonna come looking for you.

Condition 4: Quit Being Such a Candy Ass

Newt, you are a rat terrier, which means your ancestors took care of their masters (a term which you're obviously unfamiliar with, incidentally) by sniffing out and ridding the farm of rats and other vermin.  You, though, would be more appropriately called a Bacon Terrier or perhaps a Tater Tot Terrier.  If you recall, the only time you've encountered anything like a rat (it was a hamster), you immediately ran into the corner and pissed yourself.  I'm sure your relatives would be proud.  Also, when you're being scolded for one of your many transgressions, be a man about it.  Don't just flop over on your back like a little, well, bitch.  It's pathetic.

I don't mean this to sound like a threat Newt, but if you keep this up, someday Theresa's going to come home and find out that you've "run away and although I spent three hours driving around the neighborhood looking for him, I just couldn't find him anywhere."  I might even put up "Lost Dog" signs just to be more convincing, though there's no guarantee I'll include our real phone number.

Think I'm bluffing?  Piss on my shoes again and find out, buster.




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Debbie(single;complicated) said...

OK..there are TEARS rolling... this was so cute and funny! I am sure the fact that I can relate made it even more so! ONCE again, thanks for the great start to my day!

Moooooog35 said...

None of my dogs ran away.

They all went to live on farms. Which is weird, because I lived in an inner-city as a child...not many farms.

My parents were nice to do that.

f8hasit said...

Dog pee ----> loafers
Dog fur ----> pillow

It sounds as if you might go ahead a pre-print those posters!

Linnnn said...

Newt would be a great addition to our local Dog Park! I am just rolling with your account of Newt's escapades. I totally get it! In fact I just posted something about the Dog Park if you like...

Christy said...

Ew, cannot have dogs sleeping in the bed! I hate dog hair and if I had to sleep in it, I'd probably just find a new place to sleep.

It IS a cute dog though.

Chris said...

That was freaking hilarious. We have (wait for it) a 160lb English Mastiff that is the biggest baby on the planet, and a basset hound. No comment.

Funnyrunner said...

Holy cow that was one of your best posts! that was hysterical. My husband wouldn't deal with any of that for more than an hour. That dog would be on its ass at the pound in a heartbeat. Poor little guy.

Be careful not to hurt your seven iron!

Grumpy, M.D. said...

I think he's Snowball's long lost brother.

Heff said...

Two words : Anti-freeze Hamburger.

Theresa said...

I love you for loving him...

Quirkyloon said...

So you're telling us you're an in the closet dog LOVER, right?

Love the doggie diaper.

I think.

JD at I Do Things said...

"I know you can hear me because you can hear the sound of a Cheez-It hitting tile from three rooms away."


We have a cat who can hear milk being poured from three BLOCKS away.

And now I really want a Tater Tot terrier.

Linda said...

Our dogs may have taken over the living room but they are not allowed in our bedroom. Heck, we didn't even let our kids in our room!

And you're right- they know when they've done something wrong- when ours break into the litter box and we hear the crunching, they head right to the door, with hunched shoulders and lowered heads, looking like they wish the had a jacket to pull over their faces.

Chris@Knucklehead! said...

@Debbie: Glad you enjoyed it! That mutt makes for some great blog inspiration.

@Moog: Yep. They were sent to farms. They're living happily ever after.

@f8hasit: Can I put your phone number on the posters?

@Linn: That's all Newton needs, a Dog Park. He'd be the doggie bum sleeping on a bench. Or peeing in the sandbox.

@Christy: Dog hair is itchy. Just sayin'.

@Chris: A 160-pound mastiff. I don't even want to think about cleaning up after that beast.

@Funnyrunner: Thanks! And don't worry, if the seven-iron goes, I'll just start using the sand wedge.

@Dr. Grumpy: Maybe we should get them back together. At your place.

@Heff: Yeah, but then Theresa would give me the next batch of anti-freeze burgers so for the sake of self-preservation I'm going to have to come up with another plan.

@Theresa: Yeah, thanks. I suppose he does have his good points. Give me a couple days, I'll think of something. :)

@Quirky: Oh, I have no problem with dogs in general. It's just this one dog in particular. My cocker spaniel Munson is awesome.

@JD: Newt digs Tater Tots, bacon, Cheez-Its, and especially french fries. The spoiled little brat.

@Linda: A mental picture I did NOT need. Thanks so much.

IT said...

I would offer to send you my two iron... 'cause it's just taking up space somewhere in the garage. I wouldn't even think about using my seven iron because it is one of my more useful clubs.

There's no pet in this house... unless you count the spiders. They earn their keep by keeping the other bugs away.

Leeuna said...

Now Chris, you old softie, we can see from the photos just how much you "don't love" the little pooch. You're not fooling us one bit.

Suldog said...

I am, thankfully, married to a woman who is allergic to pet dander. Therefore, I never have to worry about writing a letter to a Newton of my own. Anyway, I prefer cats, especially tomcats. They love getting high, stay away from home for a week at a time getting laid, and in all other ways also remind me of my younger self.

Eva Gallant said...

My last dog was a 217 pound Newfoundland. Hmmm Maybe that's whay he was the LAST one! I told the kids to name him something big and black and they settlee on Charlie Barkley!

WannabeVirginia W. said...

That was an awesome post. Loved it. actually read the entire thing, not that I don't already have a shit load of shit to read. Just sayin. Loved it.

Bethany@ImperfectMom said...

Hilarious! I love the backpack filled with Snausages and tennis balls!
A doggie diaper? That dog would end up being an "outside dog" at my house.

The Good Cook said...

LOLOLOL.. now I know you really LOVE this dog, just as much as my husband loves my dog. NOT.

Maybe he just needs a doggie pal.. why not get him a friend?

Michelle H. said...

Too funny!

ReformingGeek said...

Love it!

Our pets own us good, don't they?

Although I believe you are quite serious about the "lost dog - Oops" thing.

Viv said...

I love how Newton has his diaper-clad fanny turned toward you for his picture. And how is it that they make that "pretend not to hear" face when you scold them, but when you drop one particle of your dinner, they come running from across the neighborhood! I love dogs.

Candice said...

If I ever get to the point of putting my dog in a diaper so that he doesn't whiz all over the house, I will seriously be considering euthanasia as an alternative.

Mr. Condescending said...

Teach it to have that confused face!

Hey tell Theresa to make sure that fireplace is up to code!

screwdestiny said...

This post was hilarious! Particularly because I could see my boyfriend writing something very similar to it, only in regards to my cat that I love dearly.

Chrissy said...

This is so funny! You know you love him..

Viv said...

I do believe you may have just hit on the 'real reason' my husband lives 350 miles away.

You aren't fooling anyone, you might not like being wrapped around those tiny paws, but, you're there...and Newton knows it.

Heff said...

Here's to hoping Mosley wins ! (but I doubt it).

lime said...

the look on your face where you're holding newt says it all. this is an uneasy truce at best. lol

SoccerMom said...

That is too freakin funny. I have one of "those" dogs at home. Not mine but I do most of the taking care of. Her name is MOOG (yes named after an guitar amplifier, seriously dumb but whatever)

This dog eats so much random shit(like birth control pills) I'm surprised she hasn't died yet.

My sportsman has also threatened to take her on a long drive to NO WHERE.

Jules said...

Or, as Metallica would say, "OBEY YOUR MASTER!"

Jenn Thorson said...

"I know you can hear me because you can hear the sound of a Cheez-It hitting tile from three rooms away."


I would love it if you won this war, but I think his army has fur, fleas and Theresa on its side.

Good luck, friend.

Anonymous said...

Gorgeous Photos!
German Shepherd Puppies

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