Have I mentioned that my dog is a weirdo? Yep, and he still is.
Griffen’s favorite people were in the street today – City of Bainbridge Island workers, fixing potholes. And whenever there’s fresh asphalt around, he simply goes crazy. He pulls me right to it, then puts his face down and rubs his cheek, followed by his whole body. It’s what dogs do when they find a dead skunk or something similar, only, my dog likes the invigorating scent of creosote. And today, he even tried to eat a mouthful before I yelled “No!” and pulled him away. That’s a vet bill I simply don’t need. Oddly enough, he does the same thing in the house with the bathroom mats, rubbing himself all over it. Sometimes it’s after I’ve been in the shower, sometimes it’s just any old time. Foot fetishist? Maybe, although the actual feet attached to me don’t seem to hold any special interest.
But today’s true chuckle came from watching TV together. We were curled up on the couch after our morning walk, and Griffen was fast asleep against my leg. He’s a terrific cuddler, this dog, to the point that he gets quite upset that I won’t allow him to sleep in my bed with me. His own bed is literally inches from mine, but it’s still a bridge too far, and when forced to sleep there, he throws himself down with a dramatic sigh and turns and faces the wall. Oh the humanity. So couch time is “Let’s get as close to Mommy as I possibly can” time. I had on a series from Amazon called Catastrophe, and there was one particular episode where the lead guy was cleaning up a table full of empty alcohol bottles. Clink clink clink. Suddenly, out of a dead sleep (he had been snoring, even), a little furry brown head popped up. Whaaa? He cocked his head right then left, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. I ran it back to that scene just to see if he’d do it again and sure enough. Then he jumped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. Light bulb went on. Ah, he thinks someone’s in the kitchen, cooking something. Or at the very least, Something of interest is going on in there! There might be food on offer! I’m on it.
Of course, nothing of the sort was happening. No one else was in the house, and they certainly weren’t cooking anything in the kitchen. Laughing, I took the opportunity to get up and go to the bathroom. And when I came back, well, let’s just say that Griffen was also taking the opportunity…to…how do I put this delicately? Uh, pleasure himself. He was in the hallway – what I call his staging area, since he often brings his carrots and whatnot over there to chew up – with that “God, Mom, can’t a guy get a moment of privacy!” look on his face, if such a thing were possible, and the red rocket was fully engaged. I can’t even begin to imagine what could have sparked that particular reaction, only that I immediately took to Facebook to announce that my dog was obviously an alcoholic and a degenerate.
So after these latest incidents, I’m considering booking him into Betty Ford for a stint of rehab, although the one who may need it is me if this keeps up. Pass the bottle, Griffen, ya’ freak!