Adventures in Raising a Rufus…Vol. 3 • By Oakley

My dog does so many asshole things that I could write a book. Instead I’ll just make it a series of recurring blog posts with the same title where I can complain about all of the asshole things he does…

Welp, it’s that time again. I’ve rounded up enough examples of just how terrible our dog is that it’s time for me to blab about them on the internets. I’m turning into a crotchety old lady when it comes to dogs – and maybe pets in general. If you’re thinking about getting a dog, just don’t do it. I’m almost positive that Rufus is the exception to every single rule in the book but because of him, I’m convinced that I’ll never own a dog again. And when the kids ask for a new puppy in 10 years (who am I kidding, Rufus will still be with us…) I’ll direct them back to this old bloggity-blog and have them read about the horrible, terrible, no good things he did.

So without further ado:

Rufus at a glorious MarCon apple pie of the counter. It was towards the back of the counter but because he’s 17 feet tall when standing on his hind legs, he had no problem gobbling that sucker right up. The serving utensil that was in the pie tin was untouched. And I didn’t even get a piece. Sorry, Aunt Priscilla…

He ate on cookies off counter. Again, he’s 17 feet tall. See above.

I made a nice breakfast one Saturday morning- blueberry pancakes. Yum. Rufus thought they were delicious too and ate them off the table. Rufus is a shark. He seemingly wanders by the table, acting aloof and then all of a sudden, he strikes. Snatches up the pancakes while still moving in one, quick, fluid motion. It takes all but a second and then they’re gone.

One night, Rufus tricked me into getting up from the table so he could swoop in and eat spaghetti off my plate. He was barking at the front door; I got up to look and see what he was barking at; he darted behind me back into the kitchen and ate my ‘sketti. I was pissed.

Basically, he eats things.

i ated it…

And the kicker:

Last night, Rufus would not come in from outside. It was 10:30 PM and all we wanted to do was go to bed. Justin had to go out into the yard and coax him to come inside. Then, Rufus would not come upstairs. Normally he’ll sleep on the floor in our bedroom but he was being a schitzo and would not come up. Instead he was panting at the bottom of the stairs and pacing throughout the main level. I thought I was going to have a stroke from listening to the repeated click-click-click of his nails on the hard floor.

After a few hours (Eff my life…) of trying to get him to settle down, I started getting paranoid thinking that maybe, JUST MAYBE, Rufus was trying to be Lassie or something and warn us of danger (at this point, I think I was so tired I was delusional…). Gas leak? Carbon monoxide? I’ve heard of dogs “warning” their owners when things just don’t seem right. He was being so weird, I thought maybe this could be it. I woke up Justin (who of course could sleep through it all) and told him I was going to Walmart to get a carbon monoxide detector. He assured me that we already had one of those in the house but I couldn’t sleep so I figured it couldn’t hurt.

There are some interesting people at Walmart at 1:00 AM… Just sayin’…

I picked up 2 carbon monoxide detectors and 2 cans of Redbull (this mama was going to need an extra kick to make it through the next day…) and headed home. I got the bad boy plugged in and to my relief, we were not being poisoned. Peace of mind. Better safe than sorry. But. This means my dog was NOT being Lassie. He was just being a bitch.

At 2:00 AM, I woke Justin up again and had him CARRY our 100lb+ dog upstairs so we (I) could all go to sleep.

This morning, Justin had to CARRY our 100lb+ dog down the stairs and outside so he could tinkle. I was running late for work this morning (big surprise) and again, he would not come inside. I had the baby in one arm and had Rufus by the collar in the other and dragged his ass inside. Not cool.

carry me, bitches.

He probably pulled a muscle chasing squirrels or something last night and maybe he was in a little pit of pain but come. on. This was just a teensy bit ridiculous…

Tonight? Went up and down the stairs (outside and inside) like nothing was wrong. Asshole.

sorry not sorry

I should really stop compiling these posts documenting Rufus and his very bad behavior because all it’s doing is highlighting the fact that we really need a dog trainer and should have called in reinforcements oh, I don’t know, four years ago?! But now we’re all “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” and so well probably just live with it for the rest of our lives.

Thank goodness the internet lets anyone have a blog and I have a place where I can bitch about it.

*I totally snagged these photos from my mom’s facebook page. Thanks, ma!

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