I’ll Kick Your Dog

Yesterday’s trip to the dog park taught me that I, too, have limitations. Some may say that mine require some reining in.

I am well within reasonable parameters. Keep your shit in check and I won’t have to check it for you.

Almost a month ago (the best month of my grown-up life) my husband and I rescued a dog. We named our bitch, River.

River is the most stunning Siberian Shepard mix you’ll ever lay eyes on. Disagree with me and you can be sure that I’m going to talk mad shit about you to all of our mutual friends – it’s obvious, you’re jealous.

My dog is faster than you, smarter than you, and she’s even better looking than you. For fuck’s sake, she looks like she has eyeliner on! The type of perfect eyeliner that women spend 40 minutes in front of the mirror making ridiculous faces trying to attain. She’s stupid pretty and doesn’t even have to try.

Some dogs aren’t so lucky. There are those less fortunate dogs. You know the ones. The ones you’re kind to in front of the owner but painfully squint your eyes and turn your face away from in pain; like somehow, turning your head away from the ugly will shield you. It’s not contagious, btw. You don’t catch “ugly”.

Sometimes I wonder if dogs pick up on the fact that I give them pity pets. Dude, you’re really hideous, and I feel for you having to live life with bulging eyes and three teeth in your face…come here…let me pat your head. But, only briefly, I don’t want catch whatever it is you’ve got. God forbid that poor bastard should be cursed with horrid flatulence or a wicked under-bite as well. Might as well put it out of its misery.

Where was I? Dog park. Right.

It had rained the night before but we decided that River still needed some exercise and socialization. We decided to take her to the park. It was happy hour at the office water cooler.

She seemed happy upon arrival; there were other Siberians there. There was a large Shepard there as well. In fact, most of the dogs there were around her size, and, I’d say temperament.

Except Fuck Nut.

Fuck Nut, initially, I thought was a handsome hetero-chromatic, black and white mixed dog. I didn’t know what breed he was. I just thought he was larger and enjoyed playing fetch. Maybe he enjoyed fetch a little too much.

Turns out Fuck Nut is part douche canoe, part Hell hound.

River can be cunt, don’t get me wrong. She likes to roll a puppy for shits and giggles every once in a while. But this motherfucker – he’s a dirty shit-stain bastard. I’d watch him run across the yard with the tennis ball in his mouth and growl anytime my girl got close.

Protecting his high-prized item? Okay, cool. I get it. No one is coaching him out of his fucked-off behaviors.

You know what happens when no one trains shitty behaviors out of otherwise good dogs? Other, good dogs go home with bloody ears.

River had picked up a tennis ball that wasn’t in play. She was, I guess, bringing it back to us for a toss. Suddenly we hear a yelp. That ginormous piece of ass cheese bit her! It’s legit the first time River has ever “spoken” at the park. My husband says, “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak.”

I watched her continue to play but it quickly became apparent that her white muzzle was turning pink. She was clearly not terribly phased.

Let me be abundantly clear: I DON’T GIVE A FUCK. My dog is bleeding. There is a little piece of her ear that is now missing and WHERE THE FUCK IS THE OWNER OF SATAN’S POOCH?

I am about to curb stomp your dog, do you want to maybe come handle this shit? Um, say you’re sorry? No? You want to sit on the bench and scroll your Instagram feed instead? That’s fucking brilliant. I am about two seconds away from kicking your dog in the face then pissing on it while you watch. How’s that for park manners?

You may think I’ve gotten carried away on this little rant of mine, but you don’t have to look at your poor dog with a fucking Band-Aid on her ear. It’s so sad. As pet owners, and specifically dogs, we have an obligation to do our best to help our pets be the best they can be – just like children. Sure, they were playing. Shit fucking happens. No one died.

As a grown-up you get to be an adult and be responsible though. Hey, I’m really sorry. Is your dog okay? That would have gone a long way towards me not wanting to shit down your throat or slit your tires in the parking lot. I’m not even promising I won’t try it next time I’m there if I see you.

All I’m saying is, be better.

Be a better person so that I don’t have to humiliate you in front of your pet next time we meet at the park. Be better to your pet so that I don’t have to humiliate him in front of all the other animals either. Just be better so I don’t have to be.

7 thoughts on “I’ll Kick Your Dog

    1. I did not. I just wanted to get my girl home. Hindsight being the cocksucker it is, I spent the better part of the rest of day fantasizing about how to handle myself should the shitsuation present itself again.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Get River to pity pose, take the shot and stick it on Instagram with the location noted and tag the fucker. My bet is that the dog has his own Insta and 20k followers. Name and shame.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ugh…it probably does. It probably wears scarves and take photos with a Puppuccino outside the local Starbucks with its owner in matching sunglasses. I’m going to be ill.


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