Good Boy

I used to be a good boy.

But that morning I jumped on the unmade bed of my neglecting owner and pooped on her pillow.

Things didn’t have to be this way.

That day, as I  usually do,  I took a morning drink from my bowl as soon as I got up.  But there was nothing usual about that day.   The was a different smell in the air.

 She woke up and didn’t rub my head.  Her attention was some place else.  

Then I heard an unfamiliar sneeze coming from the bedroom.

“Do you have a dog?” – I heard the voice of a man.  Was he allergic to me?  I really didn’t care.  But that awful morning they rushed out of the house  for breakfast.  

And she forgot to feed me.

Always well mannered and trained, I was never the evil kind.  But life forced  me into it.

The world goes round with or without me.    But I could not go on without her attention.  And I was very hungry that morning.  

Dogs  live their lives,  they are born and then die, wagging their tails and tucking them between their legs every now and then through the days.   And some times, maybe most of the times… I had no control over it.   I was  ok with all of it.  That’s just the way the world is for a dog, whether I like it or not.

When she came into my  world, she was free and wondered in and out of my life as she pleased , whether I cared about it or not.  She must have known I needed her and I was nothing without her.  She walked into my life and disappeared at will.  She laughed, she cried, and ALL the times, there was nothing I can do about it.  And I wasn’t ok with any of this. When it came to it, she was my owner and I hated my lack of control over her.

That morning when I heard his voice.  I sensed a smell that was unrecognizable and I hated the way it blended with her delicious smell of potpourri.  I had a repugnant feeling in my soft stomach.

I became evil and was forced into a morning of mischief and bed pooping. There were multiple factors contributing to this, but  most importantly I was  left  home alone without breakfast, while her smitten-faced owner left me forsome person that made her laugh and took her attention away from me.

I was brought into this world  prematurely , and immediately I was forced to fight against other fluffy  super cute, good boy puppies that were brothers of mine.  All for a piece of my mother to  suck and get food.  Many times I was  bitten by one of my dumb siblings , really hard.  Then we all got separated and taken into cages where other humas would come stare at us.  I would numbly and uncontrollably wag my behind at the sight of any of their  faces.

Every day, every moment of my life, I’ve been  either hungry, super energetic or tired.   There was no in between. The only thing that would bring me a level of comfort was seeing her.  Some times licking my self and/or chewing on  my stuffy bunny. Would take the edge off.  But things often didn’t go well when I would follow my natural instincts.  Yet, I did what I thought was the right thing most of the time,  and always tried to play by the rules.

And there I was, without breakfast and utterly confused by the weird smells emanating from her room after I did what I did.  Someone had to pay.  Enough was enough.

She was my inspiration.  Each day I would stare at her every move.  I wanted to be with her every single moment of my life. Every time she would throw  my stuffy bunny away I would bring it back to her with  the dedication of a surrendered animal who wanted nothing else in life but those moments.

Then there was him… Who was this man that just took the one thing I care about in my life? Why would he do this to me?  Wonder if this is not the first time he had taken someone’s owner away.

The door opened.  They came back.  They were gone for  30 minutes, perhaps for a  whole year.  I was never good at telling how much time went by.  Why did they had breakfast without me for that long.  My dog mind felt overwhelmed.  

She held a doggy bag on her right hand, probably people food I would never be allowed to touch.  He had what it look like one of those things she used to take me to the vet those times.  A “death kennel” I heard a cat call it once .

 The writing was on the wall.  My journey was about to end.

He put the death kennel down and opened it.   It  had a smell I can only described as “fighting”, or “you shouldn’t be here”  type of scent.   I couldn’t believe my discolored eyes… Another dog had entered  my land. 

HEY HEY HEY! is all I remember saying instinctively.  My owner held me aggressively and  her touch felt both comforting and threatening at that critical time.  I didn’t know who the intruder was but all I knew was that I was going to bite the shit out of it.   

On that very morning, I made my life mission to revenge that lack of attention and ALPO on my plate.  This humiliation was going to be punished.  The good boy was not good no more.

In the middle of the chaos,  she came to a realization:

“What’s that?” - she said taken a deep breath.

“It smells like  your dog took a shit  in the room“– he said.

“Shut the hell up man” – I thought to myself

They rushed into the room holding the intruder in their hands.  

“EEEEW!” -  She said.

“GROSS” – He said.

“WOOF WOOF!” – The intruder said  in his arms.

WOOF WOOF WOOF! – I said back… Extra woof there for it  to go fuck itself.

Nothing was ever the same.

I’ve been  tortured now for years from this ordeal (maybe it’s just  a couple of days, who knows) But  now every time they all go out, I am being kept in the same kennel that intruder came in, while  he,  a well-trained Pomeranian they call “Wagman wanders freely around my home, never shitting on pillows. 

I pledge to spend the next 10-13 years of Wagman ‘s existence making his life a living nightmare.

Woof Woof Woof.