January 30, 2007
One of my dogs
Originally published August 29, 2003
I once had a dog that would drink straight tequila. He was a white mixed-breed that my room-mates and I adopted from a neighbor. His name was "Honky."
He had the misfortune of living with three college students who smoked a lot of dope and thought a drunken dog was funny as hell to watch. We would fire up a couple of joints and pour some Jose Cuervo into a bowl for the dog. The dog would lap it, bark, then lap some more, bark some more and repeat until the bowl was empty. Then, we would give him a shotgun or two of reefer.
The dog's ass always got drunk before his front end did.
He would attempt to walk across the room and his back legs would just quit on him. He would fall on his ass and look at his butt in amazement. The front legs remained functional, so the dog pretended to be sitting there as if he MEANT to assume that position. His tongue was hanging out and his eyes were glazed, but he attempted to maintain a pretense of doggy dignity.
Then, his head would nod a couple of times, the front legs went into Sudden Failure Mode and the dog hit the floor asleep in a puddle of doggy-drool. He always was surly the next morning after a Hard Party night, but he never refused a bowl of tequila.
Honky got hit by a truck and died in the spring of 1974. He saw a cat on the other side of Sullivan Street and didn't stop to look both ways when he went after it. The dog was sober at the time, but he was dead as a doornail after the truck hit him.
Honky was a good dog.
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