Our 10-month old puppy has taken leave of her senses and decided to attack me on two occasions. It’s always for a specific reason; she gets angry when I take something away that she’s trying to eat.
She seems perfectly normal and happy. She’s great around the kids. But she snapped. While I was walking her, she gobbled up a big wad of saran warp. I had to pry her mouth open to extract it. She snarled and bit me hard enough to draw blood.
The second time she was eating feces, which she once shunned but has now acquired a taste for. She bit me when I picked her up, the little bitch. This time I got a nice bruise. A few days before that, we gave her a steak bone. What a treat! She snarled at anyone who walked anywhere near her.
We’ve taken her to training classes but now we’re looking into a private trainer who’ll come to the house. My Lower East Side credibility has officially evaporated.
There are some manly men out here who think I should have given her a good, swift, kick in the ribs, but I keep reading that you shouldn’t hit your dog and thus far, I’ve resisted. But if she ever bites one of the girls or Mrs. Wife the way she’s bitten me, I won’t bother with the humane society. I’ll throw her in a sack and toss it in the Shrewsbury River and watch it float out to the Atlantic. For real.
I don’t do food posts (except for stuff I slap on the grill). I have absolutely no appreciation for “good” food and I’m sure it would show in the writing. But take a look at this and please refrain from licking your monitor:
This is (was) a delightful plate of lobster ravioli with mushrooms, tomatoes and other stuff in a cream sauce. Perhaps I should reconsider my indifference towards food. The pasta is black and white. The black is made from squid’s ink, is that correct? We took the girls to a nice restaurant, which we don’t do often because they’re still kind of young and it’s a luxury item for us.
Our table overlooked the Sandy Hook inlet. Do you know what? To hell with the Lower East Side. Who needs it.
9/11 is our wedding anniversary. Fuck you, terrorists. You’re not going to take it away from us. 13 solid years. 15 if you count dating. A lot of people don’t make it this far. It was easy! Happy anniversary, dear.