My dog is an asshole – Part 1

Don’t be fooled by his face, he really is a dick.

I named him Archer, after the wise-ass tough guy animated character on the FX TV show. You know, this guy:

I did this because he’s a badass and I wanted my dog to be a badass. And if you’re about to say “well your first mistake was choosing a terrier…” just shut the fuck up. So, unfortunately, he went the complete opposite direction of his moniker and grew up to be a giant, gaping vaginal cavity. Let’s begin with the submissive urination. Holy shit, all you need to do is look at him the wrong way and he’ll leave a warm yellow present right there on the floor. For you! As an offering! Cuz you’re the boss! If anyone, virtually anyone, comes up to pet him, he will sink those little legs down and flash flood their feet. If you make the mistake of letting him jump up to greet you, he’ll decorate your pants. It’s a urine party, and urine-vited, okay?

Granted, the brat has come a long way from when he was first adopted, and he would leave trails of pee behind him as he ran across the room, but wow, this is really still happening. Now yes, thanks to Cesar Milan’s TV show where he comes into people’s houses and calmly and assertively tells them how everything their dog ever does or ever will do is their fucking fault, I do take most of the blame. My idea of handling the situation patiently is saying, “Are you goddamn kidding me, Archer? Are you goddamn peeing again? Why do you keep goddamn doing this to me?” and I’ll stomp my feet on the way to get the paper towels. This award-winning method coupled with a hyper-sensitive dog clearly works wonders.

Know what else I’ve managed to do? Make him a clingy little fuck. Somehow. I’m sure hugging him too much because no humans will hug me isn’t the problem. Let me explain. If I’m sitting on the floor playing Scramble with Friends on my phone, as I am wont to do, he will climb right over my furiously moving fingers to settle hisself into my lap.

If I’m laying on my stomach typing away on my laptop, his head is on my wrists. Or behind me on my feet. Or if it’s a special occasion, he may climb on my back and watch the screen over my shoulder.

He even watches me in the shower.

Oh, and he has two settings when it comes to other dogs: blind hatred or blind terror. A dog comes up to give a friendly sniff of the asshole to say hello, and Archer will stick his tail between his legs and sit that ass down. Sorry, guy; greeting rejected! If existing in a house where another dog dares to also exist, Archer will bark in its face and helpfully show off his teeth to show just how agreeable he is to the situation. And if he does like a dog enough to attempt to play with it, his version of playing is to aggressively sniff the dog in the shoulder and then follow it with a few headbutts.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m going to be a great mother one day.

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