<< Pieces of us, evidence of life | Main | 2007 >>

Perhaps you will remember the carefree missive of Barkley the Retarded Dog, a tale once told about a hump-friendly hound. A hound that can eat an entire bowl of dog food in five seconds, and still have time to lick his balls for dessert. A hound that lives in my house.

Barkley has matured in the years since we last met, somewhat like a half-full bottle of Spumonte Bambino that's been left out in the sun all summer. He thankfully no longer takes initiative in the areas of mounting & molesting, although I often feel his rape-hungry eyes following me when I am dancing in my oversized slippers. Barkley remains Retarded and possibly Libidinous - a paper-thin veil of training is all that protects me from a vigorous leg-humping.

That said, Barkley has taken on an amiable fashion of sidling up and resting his head on the couch seat next to me. His eyes roll up to the heavens and he looks like he wants me to shampoo his head with Vidal Sassoon or something. But what he really wants is for someone to say, "UP BARKLEY! UP UP UP!" which is his cue to jump on the couch and fart on me before settling in comfortably. It doesn't have to be ME that says up. I can be yelling "No Barkley! God no!" at the same time, even. But if Barkley hears "Up" from someone, he is coming up. To pass gas.

I make Barkley pay by chasing him around the island in the kitchen. See, Barkley thinks he's chasing me, probably because he's stupid. And the kitchen floor is all shiny and clean (thanks mom!). So while I roar around the island in a clockwise circle, using my flesh-padded human skinfeet, Barkley is slipping and sliding everywhere in his mad dash to keep up. When it gets to the point where I'm so far ahead that he can't see me anymore, Barkley starts to whine and cry, flopping about pitiably as he tries to catch up. He scrabbles and weeps and moans. Yes that's right - Barkley gets sad that he loses a race around the kitchen, but luckily he's too retarded to remember for more than a minute or so. All you have to do to cheer him up is propose a race around the kitchen!

Barkley is living up to his name a bit more. He mostly barks at people who wear hats. It could be someone in the family, someone he knows quite personally, but if they're wearing a hat when they come in the door Barkley seems to think they're a menace to South Central. If it's a stranger with a hat, there's no chance Barkley's shutting the hell up... unless someone offers to race him around the kitchen. I have yet to see what Barkley might do if someone came in with, say, eight or nine hats stacked up in a jaunty tower on their head. He would probably bark himself into an aneurysm.

I am definitely getting Barkley a hat for next Christmas.

Posted by Chris at 07:09 PM >> Commentations (3)