Little doggie, how do I torment you so?

Let me count the ways!

I take you for walks. I scratch your back when you nudge me. I feed you doggie crack. I feed you more food than Kris says I should feed you. I take you on mini-walks through out the day. I play tug of war with you.

Oh, these are all such torment!

I let you sleep in the bed with us (which is, by the way, an incredible sacrifice you don't know the half of!). I tolerate your barking. I let you sniff each and every smell on your walk. I let you into to the bedroom during the day so that you can sleep in the sun. I run after squirrels with you. I take you to the vets on a regular basis. I take you to the park to run around.

How can I be such a cruel, cruel owner?

I sneak you extra shizzle sticks to chew on (okay, so I bribe you with food to shut up, it's the same thing, right?). I stop Annie from dominating you, thereby keeping her as the Omega dog. I scratch your belly when you present it. I take you on hikes through trails and forests. I even buy the books with the trails listed in them, just so that I can find dog-friendly trails. I take you to Waterdog Lake so that you can go romping through the reeds (and where I get ticks).

I even let you sit in my office chair.

When I'm in it.

Oh, the torment!

It's only fair that sometimes, just every once in a long while, I get a chance to really torment you.

Say, with two Elizabethan collars!

And we start the year off right. We're tied 1-1 going into March. That's one migraine and now one menstruation. 0-0 is, of course, ideal, but even isn't as bad as the 2-1 ratio of last year.

Let's keep it up!

Here's an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:

Page 126, third paragraph:

"Name ... Harry Potter. Crime ..."
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour of scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime ... befouling the castle ... suggested sentence ..."

A couple days ago, Kris was sitting next to me on the couch. At the top of his lungs, he yells, "Crime?!" Startled, I looked over at him.

"Befouling the castle!"

What?

And then he let one rip.

Now, if you've never been in the presence of one of Kris' farts, let me warn you that they are quite, um, odorous. When I hear one, I flee.

Fast.

Of course, I can't say mine smell any better. I'm just used to my smells.

So, our new word for "Flee for your life if you wish to avoid the smells emanating from my butt!" is "Crime?" yelled at the top of one's lungs. The proper way to finish the warning is, of course, "Befouling the castle!"

It's quite entertaining.

Only eight more years to go. Eight more years. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Eight.

I am so tired of:

• the barking
• the whining
• getting pushed out of bed by a dog
• being unable to have sex in my own bed because there's a dog between the two of us
• the licking sounds (there's nothing in your crotch, dog!)
• the open wound on the leg
• the whining
• the hovering whenever I'm in the kitchen
• the staring while I'm sitting in the bathroom
• butt wipes on my brand spanking new rug
• being unable to head out of town on a whim because we have to find someone to take care of them
• imposing on friends to take care of them
• the whining
• the upturned trashcans
• the $400 a month dog food bills
• the emergency room runs
• the $300 a month veterinary bills
• finding dog hairs in my underwear
• finding dogs eating my underwear

I know Kris loves these dogs, but they are driving me insane. He's not home with these monsters 22 hours a day. Dog, shut the fuck up!

Here's a picture of me and Kris. In this picture, I am very, very happy to be here:

Here? What does "here" mean?

Well, at that moment, here meant at my house, sitting with Kris, dogs at the feet, television on, doing not much on a Wednesday night. The heat was on in the house, laundry running in the garage, computers humming in the office, tivo recording who knows what, Alias playing on the DVD player.

And why was I so happy?

Because 10 minutes before that, I was choking and unable to breathe.

A piece of ginger that I was eating with my sushi, unfolded the wrong way and covered the top of my windpipe as I was chewing away. I tried to inhale, and realized I couldn't.

And then, I forgot how to breathe.

It was a very surreal moment. My thought were something along the lines of "Breathe. How? Just inhale. Um, okay. Uh, it's not working. Yeah, I noticed. Hmmmmm."

I stood up after a couple seconds, Kris stood up next to me. "Are you okay?" I shook my head no, as I tried to figure out how to get air into my lungs. Through the nose? No. Through the mouth? No, that's still not working. Exhale? What's that again? Exhale.

Just as I turned to present my back to Kris, who was reaching around my sides, the ginger in my throat shifted, and I managed to inhale.

Whoo! Air! And a glorious, wow, I'm happy to be here feeling.

Can't say I was particularly hungry after that, though.