Tag Archives: Pets

Who’s a b*tch?


This morning as I’m cleaning out some crap from the back yard, our mutt of a dog – in her excitement to see me – started running around me…while still tied down with her chain.  Lets just say the chain was very quickly wrapped and tightened around my ankles.  And there I was, screaming in pain and yelling out:  “YOU STUPID BITCH!!!!”

‘Cause, you know, she’s literally a bitch.

The Payback.


Dear crazy, vicious, used-to-be-stray dog that has found shelter in my next door neighbor’s home for the last two years:

I’ll admit it:  I don’t like you.  I never have.  You are a vicious dog who will bark even at a gust of wind.  You have not shut up for the last two years.  I can’t remember the last morning when I woke up to peace and quiet.

I haven’t been nice to you, I know.  Whenever I got the chance I purposely soaked you with the garden hose  in a misguided attempt to enjoy a quiet afternoon drinking  iced coffee in my garden.   And also, your owners are insipid, irresponsible idiots who never properly take care of you or their four other dogs nor do they respect their neighbors enough to keep their animals clean.  Have you any idea what your shit smells like in the summer?  You know what I’m talking about?  That pile of shit that never gets cleaned up from your yard. And the flies…don’t even get me started on them.  But you’re just an animal, I can’t blame you anymore.   I guess I was taking  my anger at your owners out on you.  I realize that.  And for the last year I have left you alone.  I have never provoked you.  I tried to see the positive in you – thinking that at least you’re a guard dog for the neighborhood.

The last thing I expected was that you’d still remember the tumultuous early stages of our relationship.  I did not expect to see you out in the street as I got out of my car on Saturday afternoon.  I DID expect you to start barking at me, but not to actually come up to me, unprovoked, and bite my thigh.  And to continue to growl, teeth bared, nipping at my feet for a full five minutes until your oh-so-responsible owner heard me screaming for help.

You got me back. Well played, sir. Lets call it a truce.

P.S.  I bet you really laughed at the fact that I had to go to the hospital in dirty clothes that I wore all day while selling FISH at the farmer’s market with my cousins.  Or that the doctor who had to clean my wound was kinda hot, and there I was, as fresh as fish.


The remains of a vendetta...