Tuesday, May 18, 2010

R. Kelly Syndrome

Someone told me that it's not the dog that's crazy, it's the owner. So, let me make it very clear that Ginger is not my dog. There. That's my full disclaimer.

We all know that she likes to chase things. There's nothing better than baby geese in the morning. But on yesterday's evening walk, she did something she's never done before. She tried to chase birds... that were flying. She just kept jumping and jumping. Throwing her body into the air. Limbs flailing. Looking re-damn-diculous.

Now, I hate birds as much as the next person. Wait. Allow me to clarify. I hate birds in the morning because they don't seem to understand that the sun comes up at different times throughout the year and just because it's up doesn't mean I need to be up so they should just shut the hell up. And I hate birds when they are flying because I had one crap on me when I was walking, once. Unpleasant to say the least.

In my humble (ha!) opinion, the only good birds are fried or filled with a savory stuffing. I fully advocate the dogs submitting to their natural instincts. I don't want them getting too comfy. They need to become stone-cold killers if someone tries to break in. However, I'm beginning to wonder if Ginger has a disease. Or maybe she's just playing mind games with me.

You know, like that guy from M*A*S*H. He pretended to be gay so they would discharge him. Maybe Ginger thinks that if she acts super duper crazy and makes me look like a fool then I'll give in to all her crazy whims like 24-hour toy play (all toys, all the time), or 3-day long walks, or ice cream stops every time she gets in the car. Do you think she's trying to wear me down emotionally? I feel like I'm in Animal Farm and that any moment she's going to start walking on her hind legs and using Wilbur as her bodyguard.

Oh Gawd. I think it's already too late.

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