Theodore the Literate Basset Hound

I love my dog.  I really do.  He’s a great dog.  He’s funny, he’s sweet, he can be a pain in the ass, but what dog isn’t sometimes?  If he possessed the ability to understand what I was telling him, even just for a day, I’d let him know precisely how much I disliked him whining to go outside, then 10 minutes after I bring him back in, whining to go back out again.  Especially when the weather is shitty, and I’m soaking wet or cold or sweating so much I look like I’ve just jumped in a fountain.  I understand that he’s a dog and dogs don’t understand human frustration, but just once, I’d love it if he could.  Again, don’t get me wrong, I love my dog.  I don’t want to get rid of him or anything.  He’s the cheapest security system in the world because he looks dopey and loveable, and while he is, when he barks, you’d think it was a Rottweiler behind the door.  We don’t get many solicitors at the front door anymore, not since we’ve gotten him.  They’ll get to the stairs, maybe the driveway, then get nervous and leave.  He always gets an extra biscuit if that happens.

Anyway, yeah….I’d love it if I could talk to my dog and know he was understanding me.  I’d let him know how much we loved him and how happy we were that he was a part of our family, and also how much I really didn’t like it when he throws up, then eats it afterward.  Really, Teddy?

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