Happy Anniversary to that asshole dog Jack!

Well, it's been 4 years to the day since that asshole dog Jack showed up here.

I'm beginning to think he ain't never going home.

Judging by his teeth and how gangly and clumsy he was, I figured him to be about 9 months old when he came here, so that would make him just under 5 years old now.

Longtime readers know what a dick he was right at first and how we butted heads on a daily basis, but he's mellowed so much I almost feel bad that I don't have a long list of grievances to air about him. 

He's actually graduated from Dickhead With Teeth status to being a Pretty Good Dog.

I think he's pretty much accepted the fact that I'm the Boss man around here because of my dominant personality - either that or I'm the one that controls the food and doggy treats. I'll settle for either one.

He's remarkably well mannered nowadays. I don't quite know what to think about it - should I just assume this is the new Jack, or is he going to one day come to his senses and just explode and fuck shit all up? 

But in the meantime, he's starting to act somewhat normal and at times, well behaved. Of course that might just be the summer heat.

At night I grab 3 or 4 doggy bacon treats and my book and head for the bed where I'll read for a half hour or so, doling out the treats over that time. 

He doesn't sit there and stare at me or the treats. He just lays down beside the bed and waits for me to hand them down. I'd say he knows I don't tolerate rudeness, but he won't pull his treats off the table even when he knows he won't get caught. 

Not too long ago I lost count of the treats I was giving him one night and when I woke up the next morning there was one sitting on the very edge of the nightstand. I started to pick it up and hand it to him but instead, I said fuck it and left it there just to see how long it would last. He's in and out of the room all day and jumps up on the bed anytime I leave the property, so I figured it wouldn't last but a few minutes. I ended up giving it him when I went to bed.

He loves Lisa but he's my dog for sure. He's almost always at my side and Lisa says when I go someplace without him, he hops up on my bed and watches the road for my truck. If I'm gone for 3-4 hours, he watches for me for 3-4 hours. He may get down and go into the living room for a drink, but then he goes right back to the window.

If I'm in my chair, he's behind it. Well, he's behind it most of time anyway, it being a prime nap spot and all, but he's always close by me. If I get up to leave the room and he happens to rouse, he'll get up and follow me. "Jack, please. Give me a break here, I'm just takin' a piss."

When I go into the bathroom every morning for my morning constitutional, I can hear that asshole dog's nails clicking down the hallway and he'll lay down right outside the door. Same thing with the shower. While I am somewhat flattered at the attention, sometimes a man needs a little privacy, you know?

The first 3 years he was here, he didn't eat much of anything at all, yet he maintained a healthy weight of 75 pounds of no-nuts, guts, and speed. I could buy a 15 pound bag of dogfood and it would last 2 months. He'd eat a mouthful here and there, but he'd never eat it all in one sitting, matter of fact, a couple cups of dogfood would last for 2-3 days in his bowl. I never did figure out how he was getting by on so little and he was much more active then, and it did worry me a little - not his health but just who or what was he killing and consuming?

One day I picked up a box of those Moist-n-Meaty packets on a whim. Those he'll eat, but never more than one a day. That's not too shabby - 18 bucks for a box of 36 meals which means I'm feeding him for 50 cents a day, plus cheese and the occasional raw egg. I may even have to cut back on that a little seeing as when I took him in for his shots last week, he'd gained 10 pounds. I thought he was looking a little thick there although he's pretty solid.

Speaking of his food, he's not at all possessive of it with me or Lisa. He can be eating and I'll pick up his bowl to move it out of my way and never get a growl out of him.

His good manners also extend to the truck as well, surprisingly enough. Matter of fact, except for a couple idiosyncrasies, he's a damned good truck dog. He loves riding in the truck so much that if he goes more than a couple days without a ride, he turns into a moody l'il fuck. I'm the only person I know that plans out my errands according to how hot it'll be in the truck. If it's going to be a hot day and he hasn't been for a ride in the past couple days, I make my store run early in the morning so he can go.

He chases the windshield wipers. It's not as bad as it sounds seeing as he's not allowed in the front seat because of his habit of trying to attack UPS trucks headed the opposite direction, but it's still somewhat distracting having an 85 pound dog bouncing from side to side in the back seat in time with the wipers.

He also chases and attacks the rear windows when I roll them up or down. Other than dog spit and snot all over the inside of the windows, that wasn't a big deal until he started attacking the door panel too as long as he was wound up. My door panel is vinyl and now has teeth holes near the door handles. The first time I caught him doing that, I hollered and popped him in the butt and he quit. The next day he did it again, this time on the other door so they'd match.

Oh, no no no no no. I went to the vet's office and got some of that nasty anti-chew sour apple spray and proceeded to spray down anything and everything in the back seat that he might chew, including the back seat itself. I didn't use that shit sparingly either - if a little is good, then more should be better, right? Fuck that dog.  I hope he gags. Anyways, I saturated the back seat area of the cab.

Unfortunately, that stuff lingers and the heat from the summer sun didn't help matters any. I couldn't drive the truck for two solid weeks because every time I climbed in it, I could taste that sour apple in my mouth and I'm here to tell you, that shit is flat out nasty.

But I can leave that dog in the truck and not worry about him blowing out the windows and attacking some blue haired old lady because she got within 50 feet of the truck, a fear that's not entirely unjustified considering how territorial he is around the house.

The first few times I took him with me, I'd park way the fuck away from everybody else just for that reason. Then one day I walked out of the Piggly Wiggly to see two cop cars 69ing right next to the truck as the cops talked or exchanged donuts or whatever. I walked up and asked the cops if the dog had bothered them and they both looked up and said, "What dog?" He was sound asleep in the back seat, not paying those cops that were 10 feet away any attention at all.

Back when we were having some shortages around here, I would have to stop off at 2 or 3 stores to get everything on the list. I could buy a bunch of meat at the Piggly Wiggly and drive over to Walmart for something the Pig didn't have, go inside for 15 minutes, and come back out with my meat intact and the asshole asleep on the back seat.

He is the growlingest motherfucker I've ever seen, He growls over everything.

He growls when he's pissed, he growls when he's happy, he growls when he's trying to get my attention, he growls when he wants to go out, he growls when he wants to play. It's just his normal means of communication and I really don't pay much attention to the fact that he's growling. He's just talking to me and I can tell what he wants by the tone of his growls and expression. 

There are a few exceptions to me not paying attention to his growls. 

He hates hates hates having ticks pulled off of him. He'll growl and work up to a snarl, and I have to pin him down and George Floyd his resisting ass with a knee on his neck to keep him from biting me when I find a tick. Thank God he rarely gets them on him.

Then that stupid motherfucker grazes on long grass at the fence or tree line when he's outside and the next time he takes a dump, there'll be grass coming out of his ass. I'm talking pasture length grass here - six inches or more. Unfortunately it doesn't all get discharged and he'll have a few blades of nasty, shit coated grass hanging from his ass which irritates him to the point that he'll drag his butt to dislodge it. Because of the way his broken tail rides, he can't get it, so me being a good guy and also not wanting him to wipe his ass on the carpet, I'll grab a few paper towels, knock him down and try to pull it out as well as wiping any doo-doo he might have gotten on the underside of his tail from dragging his ass. That's a fight right there - he hates that worse than he does having ticks pulled. That's probably my fault because the first time I did it, instead of easing it out gently, I grabbed ahold of that shitty grass and yanked it like I was starting a chainsaw. Hey, he was starting to fight it and I just wanted to get it over with.

Of course he's got his "I'm not in the mood to be fucked with growl" and guess what? When I hear that, I don't fuck with him. Hell, there's times I don't want to be fucked with either, so I get where he's coming from. I don't have anything to prove by messing with him if he ain't in the mood. 

He does keep a good frame of mind and stays in a pretty good mood though, and usually playful if I'm game. I can be walking past and kick or jump at him and his reaction would be to snarl and grab me by the boot top, worrying it and trying to pull me off my feet.

That's his absolute favorite way to fuck with me, the grabbing me by the boot thing. He'll do it outside right out of the blue and he'll do it inside the house, he don't give a fuck. If  I'm just in socks around the house, he makes real sure he's only grabbing pant legs. He likes it inside the house because he can slide me around the room.

He even minds me when I tell him what to do.

Sometimes.

If he's in a good mood. 

If he was already thinking about doing it anyway.

He loves his rawhide bones, but he's sparing with them now. The first couple three years, he'd devour it in one sitting and he was all business. Now one will last him 2-3 days.

When he gets a fresh one, it's playtime for the next hour. Lisa says it sounds like I'm getting mauled.

All I have to do is make a move in the general direction of his bone whether he's working it or not, and the growls and snarls start and they get louder if I reach down and try to grab it. When I finally do manage to grab an end, it's a tug of war, him showing his teeth and snarling. We'll go back and forth like that for a couple minutes, then I'll suddenly stop and pick up a book or something and act like I'm ignoring him, and about 10 seconds later he trots up to the other side of my chair with the bone in his mouth, growling and pushing his nose at my face wanting to play more.

He can be dead-ass asleep and snoring, and all I have to say is "I'm gonna get your bone" and that fucker will jump up, run to his bone and lay down on it growling, ready to play. If he happens to be between bones, he'll still jump up, head bouncing back and forth, looking for one he might've forgotten about. Fucking retard.

He's also the laziest dog I've ever owned. You know how when you wake up in the morning and your dog wakes up with you all happy and energetic and shit? Yeah, not Jack.

Now I know that dogs typically sleep about 16 hours a day, but damn, he doesn't even try to hide how lazy he is. Reminds me of Terry Gallon, a guy I used to work with.

Jack sleeps right along the side of my bed and when I get up about 4 or 5 in the morning, I've got to step all around and over him to get out of bed. He doesn't stir nor open an eye. 

About 6 in the morning, he'll wake up, wander into the living room and flop down on his pad directly behind my chair so he can get started on his first nap of the day. What's funnier than hell though is that if I'm up and getting more coffee or whatever and he sees me as he's coming out of the bedroom, he'll duck his head, turn around and slink back in the bedroom for a few more minutes. It's almost like he's ashamed to be caught getting up.

About a half hour after he comes out, I'll go out to turn the chickens loose for the day and he'll go outside, do his business, maybe get a drink out of his pink bucket and then he's back into the house so he's not late for Nap #2. He's not outside for more than 2-3 minutes.

About an hour later, I'll go out to feed and water the chickens. He'll come out, run around the property, maybe chase a rabbit, take another dump, go fuck with the rooster for a few minutes, then it's time for Nap #3.

About 10 in the morning, he'll finally roust himself up for the day. He'll go back outside and stay for a couple three hours, then he'll come back in and catnap for a couple hours.

By 6 o'clock in the evening, he's exhausted from all his naps and calls it a day. He'll wake up one more time at 9 PM to go to bed for the next 8 hours.

He's not affectionate towards me very much. Oh, he likes to roughhouse with me and he'll occasionally come up to me for an ear scratch, but that's about it and I'm fine with that. I don't like being pestered all day every day for attention by neither a woman or a dog. He tolerates me, I tolerate him, we both know it, no need to get all touchy feely about it.

He does enjoy the belly rubbin' he gets every night right before I crawl into bed, but that's me being affectionate towards him, not him to me.

I did him wrong a couple weeks ago and I still feel bad about it.

I had let him out when I went out to cut loose the chickens, and that sonofabitch disappeared on me for about 20-30 minutes which at that time of the day is not normal for him.

I hollered and hollered. No Jack. I went and checked the house thinking maybe he was already on Nap #2 and couldn't find him in neither of his nap spots. I went back out and yelled some more. Still no Jack. Looks like that fucker finally got tired of my shit and moved on. I was a little worried though, I'll admit that.

Finally, as I was coming back from checking the road thinking maybe he got hit, he came running up from the neighbor's pasture, covered in blood and obviously stressed with his tongue hanging down to the ground. He ran right up to me, sat down and leaned against my leg, panting like crazy.

I was pissed. "Godammit, how many times have I told you to quit fighting? You're gonna get the shit kicked out of you some day. What the fuck is wrong with you!" I have become my mother.

I started checking him out, giving him hell the entire time. His ear was ripped, his collar and neck was bloody, there were scrapes on his leather collar, he had blood on his chest and all over his front paws. Surprisingly, the only injuries I could find was his ear and a couple small cuts on his lower front legs. I was seriously expecting to find at least a gash on his throat where the other dog or coyote got him, but that area was clean.

I got a bucket of water and cleaned him up, still giving him a ration of shit. Then I ignored him the rest of the day just to let him know I wasn't real happy with him.

Later that night when I was in bed, it came to me. He was bloodied up, but the one place I didn't see blood was anywhere around his muzzle or on his face where there would've been if he'd fought something, and the entire time he was MIA, I heard no fighting, no barking, no squealing or any other sound of an animal in distress. Not only that, but his ear was ripped in a straight line, not torn like it would've been in a fight.

The next morning I went down by the neighbor's pond and saw where he was re-fencing a section and left the old barbed wire piled on the ground. There was a little blood on a patch of ground. Not much, just a couple smears. Aha, all that blood I found on him must've come from his ear. The scrapes on his collar probably came from the barbs as he was trying to free himself.

Oh, hell. Now here that fucking idiot dog had chased something, probably a rabbit, into that wire and got hung up and hurt, he comes running back to me after he got loose because I'm his protector, and what did I do? I immediately assumed the worst because, well, he is an asshole, and jumped off in the middle of his shit. I have become my father.

I felt bad, I really did, to the point that I went and woke him up from his nap and actually apologized to the damned dog. He growled at me and went back to sleep.

The dog is all ass. He must be because he stretches out behind my chair and when I'm reading at night I'll reach down and give him a scratch. It doesn't matter what arm I use, nine times out of ten I get ass. Sometimes it's the base of his tail, other times it's his haunch, and sometimes it's the ol' browneye. His prostate is healthy, take my word for it.

I thought it was just my imagination at first, but then I started keeping score on a notepad I keep next to my chair - Ass/No Ass. Seventeen times out of twenty I grabbed ass.

I just tried it again - got ass and a contented growl.