“Me and you and a dog named boo
Travellin’ and livin’ off the land
Me and you and a dog named boo
How I love being a free man”
Boo was a dog. This would normally assure Boo a joyous life. Dogs, being filled with heart, nobility, loyalty, honesty, and heaping mounds of pure love, are uniquely suited among all God’s creatures for a life of joy. Unfortunately for Boo, part of that recipe is to be as dumb as a stump. The great genetic roulette wheel that creates us all had inexplicably planted a sizable intellect in a Labrador Retriever. It wasn’t an easy fit.
Boo tried, really he did. He did his best to adore his owner as all good Labs wish to do. He was hard wired for it and wanted to fulfill his destiny. But, possessing extraordinary wisdom, he simply couldn’t get around the fact that his owner was a gibbering idiot.
She was 23, had $190,000 in student loan debt, a C average, was majoring in Anthropology, pretended to be a vegetarian, and consumed great quantities of Captain Morgan mixed with diet Pepsi. She was sitting cross legged on the floor with a sewing needle in one hand and a plastic Star Wars cup of the infernal Morgan/Pepsi mix in the other. Boo half expected her to spill the drink… in which case he would rush to the scene and lap it up. She would think it nothing more than standard dog behavior but Boo craved a little rum to kill the pain.
She was happily jabbering with several like-minded friends, also sitting on the floor, which confused Boo since the room had couches and chairs. Aside from objects which he was not allowed to sleep on, what was the purpose of a couch? Men, who were rare in this room, but did show up from time to time, always sat on the couches; usually staring at the TV, whether it was on or not. Yet a gaggle of women chose, en masse, to sit on the floor? Human social customs were mysterious. One chair was ideally suited for a night’s quiet reading. It was near a pleasant bay window looking out on the rain and had a small overhanging light. Boo’s owner never willingly read anything longer than 140 characters and this evening had buried it under the accumulated guest’s raincoats. This made Boo ponder the purpose of the empty coat rack in the corner.
On the low coffee table, there was a plate of kale chips and bargain basement guacamole. Boo’s owner nibbled them dutifully and the guests did too. Later tonight, as soon as the guests were gone, they would be taking a surreptitious walk. They would “happen” to pass the nearby Burger King and Boo’s owner would fret aloud about “just this once” making a purchase. She’d eat half the burger and then, in a fit of failed vegan guilt, give the rest to Boo while she devoured a large serving of greasy fries. Boo loved late night walks!
The women alternated between trying to sew vagina costumes and posting their scant progress on Facebook. Boo knew they had less than an hour left. Soon the Captain Morgan would finish off whatever sewing skills they’d started with. The dog part of Boo’s brain desperately hoped they succeeded in this mysterious, yet surely important, mission before it was too late. The aberrant part of his brain knew it was a lost cause. Someone would stab themselves with a needle very soon and that would be the end of today’s progress.
Boo sighed. His owner’s name was Kandi and she invariably signed with a little heart over the “i”. She’d named him after a wistful easy listening song from 1971. The bitch!
He was a dog. He was going to die sooner than his owner’s minivan and he was going to spend most of his short life watching drunk college girls sew vaginas.
“Ouch!” One of them had just jammed a needle in a thumb.
The rest rushed to offer moral support and post blurry snapshots of the tiny wound to social media. Kandi spilled her drink; Boo lapped it up and slunk behind the couch to await the sweet oblivion of sleep… or death. It was all the same to a very depressed Boo.
Every day, countless dogs are forced to live in houses where the only spilled food is kale chips and diet Pepsi. If you want to help dogs like Boo have a better life, feel free to click below:
That’s a dark road you’re going down.
Me? I’m all sweetness and light y’all. Unless it’s the joke about paypal… I promise I won’t use my first draft that had Boo dropped from a jet into the Fukushima reactor. My dog is my editor and has insisted I re-write that part with a cat.
Ask your dog what it would cost to have him insist that you re-write it to do that with a bunch of Supreme Court judges instead…
}:-]
Based on your suggestion I jammed out a 3000 word draft. In it, Ruth Bader Ginsburg falls asleep during session and dreams about Muppets. Nobody notices except Clarence Thomas who bitches about it for six weeks while being totally ignored. He finally moves to Guam to become a hermit. She is embalmed and continues to preside as the famous “sleeping justice” for another 200 years. Meanwhile the whole thing is narrated by Morgan Freeman.
My dog told me I was falling off the “less politics” wagon and intervened. It dragged my laptop out of the room and buried it in a snowdrift. Now I’m watching Animaniacs on Netflix and drinking beer.
Well at least you didn’t have Boo’s owner force him to eat fresh fish…
}:-]
Does Clarence Thomas drown when Guam tips over? You can’t make that shit up.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7XXVLKWd3Q
liberals. It hurts to watch that video. The stupid burns fiercely in that one.
It’s one of my favorite videos. The pinnacle of Congressional thinking. I mentioned it here.
It ain’t Clarence Thomas. It is instead Hank Johnson, one of the Chimps in the CBC. Justice Thomas is one of the Supremes. One of the relatively sane ones, in fact.
Now I’m watching Animaniacs on Netflix and drinking beer.
AC. Dammit. Go shag your wife. Do something better than watch disney porn.
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