The Terrorist and the Little Monster

This is going to be a short post today.  I had an interesting night last night, so I’ll start there.  I slept like a twitchy soldier under the threat of an imminent invasion.  It was a fitful – waking up every two hours – kind of sleep and now I look like a grizzly bear.  I keep nodding off while I write this, albeit with one eye open, because the terrorist and the monster are still around.

This is the monster.

As you can see, the monster survived a knife fight.  A knife fight with wifesy.  No, wifesy is not a part-time masochist.  She’s a veterinarian.  A life saver of animals and even some humans – namely me.  (Insert crazy, happy, smily, emoticon with googly eyes ’cause that’s how I feel about wifesy.)

Wifesy saved the little monster from a ‘facility’ we’ll call it.  Some bigger dogs got a hold of monster’s little paw and they practically ripped it right off.  The owner wanted to stitch it up and take his chances or euthanize.  But, wifesy knew little monster would suffer if just sewn up.  So, she chatted up the guy and got him to sign her over.  Wifesy removed the nerve damaged leg and saved the doggie’s life.

People at the clinic wanted to call her tripod.  We thought “Trinity” sounded a bit more kickass.  So, she’s Trinity when she’s good and little monster the other 99.9% of the time.

Monster is a husky pup.  But, last night I thought she was more like Linda Blair from The Exorcist.  We put her in the bathroom because she’s not housebroken yet.  She started squealing.  I opened the door to check on her and, well, the bathroom was full of pee, shit, and fear – sort of like me when I took my SATs.

After sleeping and squealing, squealing and sleeping, the little monster has been asleep for the duration of the morning.  When she’s not, the terrorist stares at her from inbetween untrusting whiskers and then runs away.  It’s a hilarious little partnership and I think it draws a striking similarity to the current political climate this country.

This is the terrorist.

The terrorist rules the roost and she knows it.  So, there’s been a lot of sizing up of the little monster by the terrorist.  I’ve been on Cesar Milan patrol.  This consists of making an air-escaping-balloon noise and then applying a quick, two-fingered, poke.  Little terrorist doesn’t like it too much, but she tolerates it, well, because she has to.

I’ve never had a puppy before.  When monster is not peeing and pooping, she likes to pony up to the clothes hamper and give it some love.

When she’s done with the clothes hamper, it’s into the arms of me or wifesy where she whines until she falls asleep.  If we’re not available, little monster clasps the toilet bowl in a love-hug like me after a Saturday night in college.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was our starter gayby, albeit a three-legged one that doesn’t understand English.

We’re not keeping little monster though.  We believe there’s a good home awaiting her in Vegas.  It’s hot there and this is a damn husky we’re talking about, but we’re happy that she has a home.

I bought little monster a bed today.  Instead of using it, she’s curled around the clothes hamper or the toilet or sometimes my back.  While I was buying the bed, a man entered the line at the pet store behind me with a full grown husky.  I think it was a sign.  I tend to see signs in stupid things like cinnamon buns and pet store lines.  So, I told wifesy we could keep little husky-monster if she wanted.

And she said, “Oh, if I want it?!!”  I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “Well, you don’t mean me.  I don’t own a dogsled.  It couldn’t possibly be me who wants her!”  We laughed and Trinity mewled while the little terrorist stared at me through squinty eyes.  I called the terrorist over and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll never let monster take your homeland, but you may have to share the love.”  The terrorist snorted in assent and we all fell asleep.

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