November 22, 2003
i am out of my mind
Quinton and I picked out a dog from the Effingham County animal shelter today. We're going to name HER "Oddball." She's a one year-old mixed breed dog that took up with Quinton right away, as soon as we walked into the place. She's already been spayed and she's friendly as hell.
Oddball is black, with white stockings on all four feet and a white stripe down the center of her head that runs from the back of her neck to the tip of her nose. Quinton saw that stripe and said, "I want THIS ONE, daddy. She reminds me of Harry Potter," while the dog crawled and licked all over him. I wanted a male dog, but Oddball seems to be a good choice after careful evaluation.
I can't pick up the dog until Monday. The animal shelter is right next to the County Prison and everybody in the place today wore white pants with big, blue stripes down both legs. The guy who showed me the dogs was a prisoner and he said that nobody who was in charge of "the paperwork" would be at the shelter today. I asked him to call someone, because I wanted the dog today, but he wouldn't do it.
"I might get in trouble," he said.
I looked at him, looked at those white pants with the blue stripes down both legs and said, "That's okay. I'll pick up the dog on Monday."
Quinton was disappointed, but I'll be the first person at the shelter on Monday morning to get that dog. Oddball looks like a good 'un.
We went to Wal-Mart after that to buy a kicking tee for Quinton to practice with. The sporting goods are right over there next to the gun cabinets, so I simply HAD to walk by and see what they had.
They had a single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle for $99 and I bought that rascal. It's EXACTLY like the first .22 I ever shot and I've been promising myself for years that I would buy one some day. I did that today. I'll pick it up on Monday, too.
So, I have a new dog and another gun to fetch on Monday. If I made a bad choice on the dog, I suppose that I can shoot it with my new rifle.
Boy, you are just asking the PETA people and the anti-NRA people to just have a field day with you on this one. Wise choice though.
Hope you and Quinton have a loving and useful dog on your hands. First thing you gotta teach her is to retrieve the footballs that get kicked off that tee, without leaving teeth marks in the hide.
When you get a picture, a lot of folks would probably like to see her.
Acidman, I'm gonna reach through here and smack you for that last statement.
Congrats on the dog, and the gun too I supose.
Gun fine; smart-ass remark not worthy of you, lad !!
Sounds like you got a good dog. Bitches are easier to housebreak than dogs, they don't feel the need to mark everything inside and out as their territory.
If you decide you don't want her, let me know - don't you dare shoot her!
Yeah... smart-ass remark, until one day the dog bites Quinton or one of his buddies.
Sometimes shit like that happens, and if it does, .22 ammo is cheaper than .30-06 or 12-ga.
Good for you, Acid.
Setting out to own a dog with the intention already in mind to shoot it, before it's even gotten home is NOT good. It should not be the first thing thought of, in MB's personal opinion.
Make a dog-house or box for the dog in your garage. Mine has a knock-down wire cage covered in old rugs. It should be just big enough tor her to turn around in, so she can stay warm. She will come to see it as her warm and secure home, and she will be ready to "go home" at bedtime.
BTW, when I was a kid, our dogs weren't "put to sleep" and disposed by a vet. When they were too old to function and in pain, they were shot, and if a pet, given a proper burial. Agreeing it's time to end a treasured life is a tough lesson for a kid. But it teaches all life is valuable, and limited in duration.
At my age, I'm glad my kids live in other states, and aren't interested in guns.
Geeze, MammaBear, how could you possibly think Rob would actually carry out said threat? Men say that shit, they very rarely mean that shit.
I once had a dog that should have been shot. He wasn't, however. Ultimately he was put down (by the county), but he and the family suffered far more that should have been required. The only good that came from that experience is that I think my son may have learned to differentiate wishful thinking from reality. At least, I hope so.
When this dog was put down, he couldn't even stand. Every move he made was swathed in pain. I can only hope the people around me can draw a lesson from this and in the future not let the situation degrade to the level it did. In some respects the dog was an object lesson, an object lesson that I hope need not be repeated. The dog suffered because I did not play the heavy and insist it be dealt with. By 'dealt with' I mean me taking it out and shooting the goddam thing or taking it to the county shelter and telling them to put it down.
Yeah, I had reason to deal with the dog. However the family worked to convince me that the seminal signals I observed to the contrary were not such.
Was the dog bad? Only to the degree that it had genetically-caused malformities that it had no control over. (Damn, is 'malformities' a word?) In other words, the dog was fucked up from the get-go.
Am I a looney-tune? A hater of critters? A misanthrope? Nah. I'm also the same guy that forked over a thousand bucks because a goddamn cat broke its fucking leg. Hey, it wasn't the cat's fault. The defect was fixable, too, unlike the dog's. My neighbor said that you could buy a lot of goddam cats for a thousand dollars. He's right. Still and all, this cat is exceptionally special to my son, and the cat is worth every cent I've been forced to spend on him. (Sorry Acidman...cats got mokus)
So I'm not trying to speak for Rob here, but for men in general. If a man is worth two shits, he'll always try to do the right thing. He may not always do the right thing, but in his estimation, he will by gawd do his damndest to do the right thing. And if that dog needs to be put down, Rob will ByFuckingGawd do it, simply because it has to be done.
Now, MammaBear, tell me you feel better about this whole thing.
Gawdamn. Reading comprehension: 1, Mommabear, 0.
Go back and read that fucking post again. I don't see Acidman expressing what you're saying.
If you MUST criticize, be constructive. Constructive implies SOME connection to reality. If you can't manage that, GO AWAY!
Bitches makes the best dog pets, no doubt, as long as they're fixed aforehand. A wise choice. Wise choice on the .22 as well. You won't need to pop that puppy. She'll do Quinton right.
Oddball....reminds me of Pat McManus' dog, Strange.
I'm certain that you and Quinton will have a fine companion and that you'll only dislike having to clean up the dog poop.
A brand spanking new .22. Damn sometimes you actually listen.
On the part of others: Reading comprehension a big fat zero, as MB meant that one doesn't get a dog thinking FIRST and foremost of saying a bad choice means shooting the dog instead of having some kind of intermediary process. It ought to be an UNSPOKEN corollary, not a primary first thought.
That last line was a JOKE, MB. I'm not gonna shoot that dog. I'll make it a fine companion.
I've never shot a dog or a cat in my life with anything heavier than a pellet rifle, and I only did that to sting 'em and teach 'em the error of their ways when they were shitting in my garden or tearing up Quinton's swimming pool. I never killed any of them.
I have to be really pissed off to kill an animal.
...Acidman, I'm gonna reach through here and smack you for that last statement...
MB was NOT the only one who saw absolutely nothing funny about your original phrasing of that last sentence.
Indoor dogs are smarter than outdoor dogs by a lot. Also be advised that a good dog runs about 101 degrees F and lets you turn down the thermostat a lot at night, if they're on the bed.
Do check out Vicki Hearne's _Adam's Task_. You will be amazed, money-back guarantee.
Rob, I am really happy for you and Quinton and I wish you all the best with "Oddball". How did y'all come up with that name?
I hope it's okay to tell you here my happy story re. my dog, Dexter. In June 2002, I was diagnosed with encephalitis (most probably due to mosquito bites-west nile). I nearly met my maker. I had to be hospitalized 4 times, had 3 spinal taps (the first of which, I have no memory because I was unconscious and had a deathly high fever). In fact, I have no memory whatsoever of that whole month of July. During those four months if I was not in the hospital, I had to live with my parents because I could not take care of myself. I had problems with memory, speech, balance and the most horrendous headaches that made a migraine seem like a walk in the park. I had had my dog, Dex since he was a tiny pup in '97. He's a chihuahua/schitzu mix.
My parents already had 4 dogs. It was decided by my family that my daughter would take my dog to live with her down south. My daughter took him to her own vet after she got him (updated his shots and tagged him).
After a month, she found him a new home through a no kill pet shelter. She had wanted to keep him, but he and her cat didn't get along. I missed him so much. Cried over him a lot. Fourteen months later, this past Sept. my dog was found roaming around an apt. complex 110 miles from my daughter's city, across the Ohio River and 140 miles from my house. He was filthy, flea-bitten, had worms and was scared. Some wonderful people found him and coaxed him into their apt. They thought it was bad luck to change his name so they called him "Dog". They saw his tag, called my daughter's vet's offc. and were told what his name was. They in turn called my daughter who was thrilled because she knew I missed him so much. I called these people and 5 days later, my parents and I went to pick him up. He still remembered me and you could tell he was bewildered and yet ecstatic to see me again.
The love fest is still continuing. I never thought I would see him ever again and I think it is a miracle that he's back. Ironically, my last name is the same last name as the people who found him. There were MANY other things we all had in common too, namewise. Our story ended up on the front page of my local Saturday newspaper. I am so lucky to not only have survived encephalitis but to also have my beloved dog back. Good luck with Oddball!
I will NEVER have a male dog again.
The one we had marked everything.
Y'all take a deep breath or two, up there. Geez, snark recognition seems to be slipping round these parts. Guess it takes a smartass to recognize a smartass ;)
Churches are hospitals for sinners, rather than hotels for saints.