Anger Management

Dear People, 

Today I am 8 3/4 years / 455 weeks old.  I just want to say for the record that measuring your life in weeks is ridiculous.  I'm just trying to fit in.

Mom and Dad are currently upstairs trying to put The Little Human down for a nap, so I thought I would put paw to keyboard.  From the way things sound up there, it's going to be a while.

There have been no dramatic developments over here since we last communicated, and I find that unsettling.  She still poops in her pants--indoors.  She still cries for reasons none of us can fathom.  She is still unbelievably uncoordinated.  In a nutshell, she is a very, very late bloomer.

Sure, I have observed some subtle developments around the house, but they only serve to complicate my concerns versus quell them.  

For starters, let's talk about food.  I eat the same thing every day.  I have eaten the same thing every day for my entire life: kibble.  It is dry.  It is hard.  It tastes like the insole of an old shoe.  They toss a treat on top of my morning and evening meals like some sort of participation trophy, but we all know it's merely a consolation.  

This used to be one of the areas where I felt The Interloper and I were truly aligned.  In some ways, I thought she actually had it worse.  I mean, my diet is dull, but at least it's not entirely liquid.  Then Mom and Dad started giving her other foods.  You may recall that Little A's first foods were avocado and broccoli.  Again, I felt sorry for her.  Who wants to eat that?  She basically told them they could take their avocado and broccoli and shove them where the sun don't shine, and I thought, You're not so bad! 

As time passes, however, her menu grows.  Not too long ago, they added chicken to her diet.  Chicken!!!  I will have you know that chicken is my raison d'etre.  I have a taste bud love affair with this flavorful fowl.  These two goons ran out and bought the kid a breast of chicken from some bird that lived the high life on some organic farm, and then they turned it into a puree.  A puree.  Blasphemy!  And what does The Little Human do?  She spits it out like it is no better than kibble.  Words cannot adequately express my rage in that moment.  Sure, it was pureed chicken, but it was still gourmet pureed chicken made from the parts of a chicken people actually want to eat.  Some people do not appreciate the finer things in life.

I'd also like to discuss what happened the other day, as the disparity leaves me livid.  I've had to listen to Tubs of Fun over here whine non-stop about her visits to the doctor.  And yes, I agree with her that doctor visits are unpleasant.  No one likes shots or getting investigated from head to toe.  The difference I would like to point out, however, is that Little A visits the doctor and I stay with the doctor.  That's right.  They leave me there.  My mom will tell you that all of the dogs and cats stay with the doctor for the day, not just me.  Okay, fine.  That's true.  But let me share this conversation I overheard when Erica, Dr. Berry's vet tech, called my mom:

Erica: Hi!  I'm calling from Banfield to let you know that Scout did a great job today.  Everything looks good, and she is ready to be picked up.
Mom: (Unintelligible response.)
Erica: Of course!  Not a problem.  I have a little guy myself, and I know how awful it is to wake them up from a nap.  When she's up and you guys are ready, come on over.  We'll see you later!

When she's up?!?  Are you kidding me?!?!  I had to sit in that place for an extra forty-five minutes so The Little Princess could catch a few more winks.  Even the beagle next to me--who was shaking off the effects of anesthesia and wearing the cone of shame--even he looked sorry for me.

I won't even go into how they took my temperature while I was there.  

Is it any wonder that when we got home, I slipped out of the patio door when Mom took Little A onto the deck to swing, ran up to an oblivious and rather dopey-looking terrier, and tried to rip off its face?  I swear he was casing the house from the outside.  And what happened then?  I had to sit inside while they played.  Well.  You see what you get for asserting yourself around here.

Lastly, I'll just go ahead and address the elephant in the room.  Now that Monster Truck is gearing up to walk, will she have to wear a leash?  Only time will tell...but you can bet I will be watching.

I know, I know...so much complaining!  Don't get me wrong...I love Little A.  She's my buddy.  She lets me lick food off of her face, and she smiles at everything I do.  When she wakes up in the from her naps, I stop whatever I am doing to run upstairs and greet her.  She and I are practically the same size, so we see the world similarly.  

I just hope she understands the hierarchy of a pack and remembers her place.  

I was here first. 

Thank you for your undivided attention.  That is something we are sorely lacking around here these days.  Feel free to come over to play fetch and watch a movie with me.  I'll let you know the next time the coast is clear.




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