On our drive home from Willow Creek, California Mrs. Lott and I were listening to a podcast. The guest had a theory that you can tell a lot about people based on how their dogs act. If they are afraid of their owner, they probably are mean people. If the dog loves them, they are probably solid. That sort of thing.
If we were to be judged similarly, you would have cause to believe we are complete and total anarchists bent on hard partying and absolute chaos. You might think we were sweet, but completely unbound by social considerations and decency.
This is because our sweet little dude, Howling Jimmy Jefferson (JJ), is a crazed asshole.
It’s our fault, really. Our other dog, Nikki, is a total angel. Easy to live with. Almost silent. Now that she’s old as dirt, she has a few issues, but on balance she’s a great little dog. We got lazy because she was so calm.
JJ is a nightmare sent from hell. Right now he is farting and squeezing a wet tennis ball into my arm. Every time there is a noise in the street he jumps from the couch and emits an ear piercing war cry. In his mind he is Cerberus guarding the gates to the netherworld. In reality he is a shrill burden.
This weekend he really showed his ass. He barked incessantly, ran away from us, growled at other dogs, and made a general nuisance of himself. We stayed at our friends’ river house and they made us very welcome and at home. JJ did his best to make them hate us.
He harassed other dogs, stole kids’ toys and barked at everything that moved. If wildlife drew near, he tried to murder it. And the barking. The non-stop barking.
This wasn’t him at his worst though. Last night he earned his place in the bad dog hall of fame. Our friends one year old boy, a child so incredibly sweet and smart you know he will be cool as an adult, gave him a hug. JJ rewarded him by pushing him to the ground and humping him.
That’s right. My dog humped a defenseless toddler.
JJ thinks he just saved my life from a shopping cart being pushed outside our loft. He is demanding tribute by sitting in front of the fridge, growling. He knows this is where the treats are kept. He believes he deserves them. He is very wrong.
We are rehiring our dog trainer and going full Cesar Milan on his awful little ass. If that doesn’t work, I’m hoping the church is willing to perform a canine exorcism.