We had a house guest this Thanksgiving weekend just past — Camas, a husky-mix with one blue eye and one brown eye. Camas is a nice dog with a dumb name. Camas does not like other dogs much, so when his owners want to board him, he stays with us instead of at the dog care facility Mrs The Fyd’s employers run. Camas does not mind our dogs too much, and seems to not hate staying with us, although he seems to find many of our habits strange, if not blasphemous.
He also gives the appearance of being unnervingly smart. The last night he stayed with us, he had me out of bed in the middle of the night several times, letting him outside, giving him treats, feeding him kibble, all in a vain effort to stop him from looming over me in the dark, what with his wolf-silhouette and growling and all. Finally I bottled it and woke up Mrs The Fyd and whined about my fears of being bitten in my sleep and how the dog wouldn’t leave me alone. Yes, I bailed out and let her deal with it. Then again, that was appropriate; it’s because of her employment that the dog was in our bedroom in the middle of the night, manipulating me with his weird eyes. I mean, fuck it, I don’t bring my work home with me. Notice that neither of our own dogs lifted an eyelid to help me against the canine fiend. I doubt there was even a hitch to their snoring during this trying period of my life.
So getting up in the black of night to deal with my wussiness was probably annoying for my dear wife. Not nearly as annoying as having to hear Chuck Berry sing My Ding-a-Ling over and over and over again. I’ve had that song in my head all day.
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