<< On a Plane | Main | Television >> September 03, 2005 >> Barkley the Retarded Dog
I have the advantage of not getting very attached to our frequently interchangeable pets since I only come home to Vancouver once or twice a year. Still, there are often new beasts to contend with and this year was no different: This was the Year of Barkley the Retarded Dog. I recall talking to my sisters over MSN about the possibility of a replacement for Smokey-Cat-Thing. "We r getting a new dog!@" they all cheerfully told me, one by one by one. "Wut should we call him?" In some stupid haze, I told them "Barkley". I've given up on the really cool names like Magus or Bum Humpster - I've felt the bitter taste of rejection one too many times in pet-name brainstormings past. But Barkley... well, that was a name that might not immediately be discarded out of habit. My sisters promptly told me that Barkley was a stupid name and logged off. Not two weeks passed when I learned that the family had a new dog... and his name was Barkley. Uh-huh. I was secretly vindicated that I had finally got to choose a family pet's name, and thought that perhaps we might bond. I would be Barkley's godfather and he would not bark at me, or bite me, or do any of the annoying things which have made me hate dogs and want to eat them in a delicious soup or broth in the past. When I got home from the airport, Barkley seemed to be okay. He was a frolicker and gamboler of a dog, always wanting me to throw a tennis ball for him or drag his ass around the tiled floor by his teeth as he gnawed on a frayed piece of rope. If I refused, he would affix me with a pitiable stare and maybe whine a bit: Barkley: *whine whine* He is pretty tight and cool about the whole thing, and if I taunt him or threaten him with horrible violence every once in a while, it's all in good fun. He is clearly too stupid to understand my inventive threats involving the cheese grater, as long as I deliver them in a pleasant enough tone of voice. Sadly enough, Barkley is exceedingly stupid, retarded enough to remind me why I prefer cats. My favorite Barkley moments involve Barkley nosing along directly behind our remaining cat, quietly sniffing like he thinks he's some kind of super-sleuth on the Big Case until the cat turns around, pissed off, and whacks him right in the face with a big paw. SMACK! Hiss! Whimper! Damn I love those paw whackings and, of course, Barkley never learns that he is not a super-sleuth and so the whackings continue. Please note that I have not bothered to learn the surviving cat's name, despite the fact that he entertains me to no end with his sporadic bursts of pawwy feline rage. I do know that he is black and has green, hateful eyes, and that is enough. Anyways, Barkley the Retarded Dog's crowning achievement thus far has been mounting me at his every convenience. He is most certainly fixed in the appropriate downstairs area, and yet he has singled me out as a prime target for standing pelvic thrusts. For example, earlier I was playing fooseball with my sisters and scored a particularly sassy goal with the five-bar. Well God forbid I should do an elaborate victory dance without Barkley bounding downstairs, enticed by the commotion, and throwing himself onto me, wrapping his legs around mine and going to town. I threw him off and tried to kick him in the ribs as he pranced about gleefully, tongue lolling, but I cannot REALLY hurt this dog. He is just too stupid. Even my own personal sense of malevolence is no match for Barkley the Retarded Dog. And this, my friends, is why dogs get away with so much shit in this world despite their obvious mental shortcomings. They look cute and you feel like a dreadful handicapped-baby-beater every time you raise your fist against them. And so Barkley will live on, stupid and rape-happy and chock-full of dripping saliva, but I really, really wish he had been named Bum Humpster now - for obvious reasons. I mean, this dog doesn't even BARK! Posted by Chris at 11:58 PM >> Commentations (6)
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
"Any fool can make history, but it takes a genius to write it."
July 2007
June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 |
A few months ago, one of our two cats apparently got a bit restless and ran away from home, its worldly possessions slung over its back in a tiny spotted kerchief. Yes, Smokey - or whatever gay name my mother had dreamed up for this particular cat - was off to a new life, wild and free... or perhaps he got hit by a minivan. Whatever.