My Dog’s Nickname is WTF is Wrong with You?
My dog’s nickname is WTF is Wrong with You?
Don’t blame me. It’s totally his fault.
But before you judge me, let me explain. Let me tell you a story. A story about my dog and my underwear.
No, he doesn’t wear them– he eats them.
The he in this story is Foster, one of our two deaf dogs. If you are a regular reader or if you follow along on Instagram, then you definitely know Edison, but you don’t know Foster- and there’s a very good reason for that.
You see, he’s not right in the head.
He’s (insert air quotes) special.
It’s not that he does really bad things, like eating small children, but he will eat your dirty underwear. Once you’re done with them, of course, and have tossed them to the floor.
I mean, he’s never ripped someone’s underwear off while waiting in line at Starbucks, leaving some poor man standing there screaming, frantically moving his hands to cover up his dirty place. But given time? Who knows. I make no promises.
Like I said, he’s special.
But this isn’t the first time I’ve written about pet nicknames. You see, pet nicknames are a thing in our house. All four of our dogs and each of our six cats have nicknames. Their nicknames are usually chosen by me and speak to a particular personality trait or behavioral quirk that sets them apart from the others.
Several years ago, I wrote an irreverent blog post about our dog Galileo and his nickname. “My Dog Is An Idiot: A Love Story” was a funny, colorful, perhaps off-kilter love story, but a love story nonetheless.
These nicknames say as much about our dogs and cats as they do about me. And I know exactly what they say about me: I’m not right in the head either.
I doubt we are the only people who give nicknames to their pets.
I suspect that a fair number of pet parents have given their pets both official names that they use in front of polite company as well as more honest, descriptive nicknames- those monikers whispered in private when no one is listening, far from the judgmental ears of strangers who just don’t understand what it’s like to pull underwear out of your dog’s ass.
Yes, you read that right. I pull underwear out of Foster’s ass, and I do it on the regular.
Underwear, when eaten, makes it’s way down the gastrointestinal tract, hopefully not causing any damage or obstruction on it’s way. Unfortunately, underwear frequently doesn’t completely clear the anus, which means pet parents like me with special dogs like Foster, get to gently, carefully, ever-so-slowly extract their finest, flirty, sexy time shorts from our dog’s ass.
At the time I wrote about Galileo, Foster was still a young puppy and we weren’t sure who he would grow up to be.
Would he outgrow his puppy brain?
Would he grow up to be a dog we would proudly show off at gay dinner parties?
Would he stop eating our underwear?
And would we, finally, no longer find him licking frantically at our boxers swinging like a metronome from his ass?
No. No, he hasn’t.
We kept waiting, patiently, watching closely for signs that maturity was setting in. It never did. He’s a permanent six month old puppy who eats underwear like a stoner on a box of Pop-Tarts- frantically, passionately and with pure joy on his face.
Special, that’s part of who Foster is.
But special doesn’t mean he’s dumb. He’s quite smart actually, and observant. He knows a few dozen hand signs and, in some cases, more than one sign for the same command, i.e. an obedience sign for sit as well as the ASL sign.
He also knows, somehow, when we are likely to leave the bedroom and- just as the doorknob clicks left, which he cannot hear because he’s deaf- he bolts up and bounds through the door, quickly grabbing the first pair of briefs he can find.
This means we have to keep the bedroom door closed. We don’t do this because Foster breaks lamps or pees on the bed or gnaws on the furniture.
Nope. He’s not a bad dog.
He’s just has a thing for underwear, preferably mine and preferably dirty.
The thing is, I have a thing too. I actually like my underwear. It’s nice. It’s comfortable. And it’s fashionably gay.
And I personally do not enjoy tugging my foundation garments loose as they dangle from my dog’s ass.
Once he has the underwear in his mouth, they’re gone. Retrieving them is futile. So, muttering under my breath, WTF is wrong with you?, I mark an X on the calendar. I know that within 24 hours, he will be bounding, wildfire, from room to room, licking frantically at his ass.
Then, I jump online to order another pair and count the hours, hoping this time won’t lead to a dreaded vet visit to surgically correct a bowel obstruction.
Drop a comment below & let me know what YOUR dog’s nickname is!
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