My Dog, The Psycho


Anyone who knows my dog, knows that she is very odd, very crazy, and very intelligent. Right now, as we speak, she's dragging her ass along my floor. Lovely. Remind me not to eat anything off my carpet that I might drop... like a kernel of popcorn or a potato chip.

She barfed all over the front seat of the car today. D and I had gone to grab a bite to eat at Wendy's before he got on the bus and came back to chunky dog vomit on his seat. I laughed. I know I shouldn't have, but it was funny... plus, I heard on CSI a few weeks ago that smiling kills off the gag reflex. I didn't want to lose my lunch.

Why didn't she barf on my seat?

Anyway, another psycho moment occured last week when I asked her if she wanted to come to bed with me. She went into her box, so I told her that I would have to lock her in there so she didn't make the bath mat upstairs her own personal litterbox. She decided that she didn't like either option and went postal. She does that with pretty much anything she feels she has some God-given right to. Bones, toast, socks... whatever.

The funny thing is? I think we (my family and I) are the ultimate cause of her weirdness...