Dogs are definitely not mango's best friend
I lied in my last post. Louis and I are not holding down the fort tout seuls.
First, there is the Basement Dwelling Roomie (BDR). Or so I hear. He's more of a legend than an actual person. He keeps odd hours, and we very rarely see him. But the garbage gets taken out and the kitchen floor gets mopped every Tuesday in the middle of the night. So he must really exist. But seeing as he's rarely here, he definitely does not count.
Second, there is the Stupid Mutt. One of the girls who works here is on vacation, so I get the joy of dealing with her dog until April 5th. Not that it's my responsibility to actually dog sit. Because there exists no place in this mango's heart for furry domestic amnimals. Especially those of the canine variety. Especially those who come to my house/office every day. Because Everyday is Bring your Mutt to Work Day here at the laid backest working environment in the history of forever.
I hate that there is always a dog in my house. And I hate that I can't do anything about it. But at least she usually goes home at night. But there is no home to go to when your owner is vacationing in sunny California.
Anyway, the deal is the mammoth horse-dog gets to stay in the house if other people come and take care of her. In return, I promised not to kick, kill, murder, or otherwise molest the thing. But, right now, I really do want to kick, kill, murder AND molest the Stupid Mutt. Because in the 24 hours that she has been here she has:
How she even got upstairs is a mystery to me. Because I double checked that the door to the upstairs living area, as well as the one to the basement, were locked. Because I don't want that Stupid Mutt all up in my stuff.
On the bright side, after much scrubbing, and Shout, and Rug Doctor juice, the upstairs hallway now smells wonderfully. I, however, smell like dog urine and eight different kinds of soap.
Dog, your days are numbered.
~g. mango is entertaining bad thoughts about a dog, a bottle of BBQ sauce, and a trip to chinatown
First, there is the Basement Dwelling Roomie (BDR). Or so I hear. He's more of a legend than an actual person. He keeps odd hours, and we very rarely see him. But the garbage gets taken out and the kitchen floor gets mopped every Tuesday in the middle of the night. So he must really exist. But seeing as he's rarely here, he definitely does not count.
Second, there is the Stupid Mutt. One of the girls who works here is on vacation, so I get the joy of dealing with her dog until April 5th. Not that it's my responsibility to actually dog sit. Because there exists no place in this mango's heart for furry domestic amnimals. Especially those of the canine variety. Especially those who come to my house/office every day. Because Everyday is Bring your Mutt to Work Day here at the laid backest working environment in the history of forever.
I hate that there is always a dog in my house. And I hate that I can't do anything about it. But at least she usually goes home at night. But there is no home to go to when your owner is vacationing in sunny California.
Anyway, the deal is the mammoth horse-dog gets to stay in the house if other people come and take care of her. In return, I promised not to kick, kill, murder, or otherwise molest the thing. But, right now, I really do want to kick, kill, murder AND molest the Stupid Mutt. Because in the 24 hours that she has been here she has:
- been caught on the one freaking couch in this house that I sit on precisely because she is not allowed on it
- barked a blue streak during the wee hours of the morning
- refused to poop
- peed all over the upstairs hallway*
How she even got upstairs is a mystery to me. Because I double checked that the door to the upstairs living area, as well as the one to the basement, were locked. Because I don't want that Stupid Mutt all up in my stuff.
On the bright side, after much scrubbing, and Shout, and Rug Doctor juice, the upstairs hallway now smells wonderfully. I, however, smell like dog urine and eight different kinds of soap.
Dog, your days are numbered.
~g. mango is entertaining bad thoughts about a dog, a bottle of BBQ sauce, and a trip to chinatown
POSTED BY G. MANGO at 09:13
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