Mom promised you a furniture post, but like the good ratter I was bred to be, I nosed my way in yet again.
Personally, I find the title of this post rude and offensive. Psycho Dog. As if.
First of all, I'm not a D-O-G. I'm a Schnauzer. You didn't know there is a difference? Yes. There's a great difference.
Also, Mom happens to think I'm a complete psycho when I'm in the car. I think I'm completely amazing.
Woof. I am Gracie.
If you're familiar with my backstory, you know I had quite a few issues when Mom and Dad adopted me. All of those issues have been cleared up, along with the discovery my heart murmur is of no concern at this stage in my life.
However, Mom took my collar off the other day and gave me a nice neck rub. She does this occasionally and I love it almost as much as I love my pig squeaky toys.
She felt a big lump on the front of my neck. She KNEW it wasn't there just a couple weeks ago. She also knew that the late, great Eddie had some non-threatening cysts that popped up now and then, so she didn't freak out.
Nevertheless, the morning found me taking Mom to the vet. Other than the super-huge earthworm squirming around on the floor, and the tiny little white Manx cat that I had a great desire to eat, the vet visit was a pretty uneventful affair.
Well, I did crap on their lawn.
Dr. Vet drained the cyst and told my Mom it's just fluid and nothing to worry about. Ship-shape.
I certainly wasn't worried. I couldn't stop thinking about that Manx, and whether I could polish her off in one bite, or if it would require two.
Here's where the psycho part comes in.
Mom hates to waste a trip. We were about one mile from the Wal-Mart and she had about five things she needed to pick up. That's like thirty-five things in dog things.
Apparently Eddie-Dog was a perfect little car-waiter.
And I am not.
Mom and Dad have experienced my awesomeness when leaving me in the car for extended periods of time. Like when filling up the car at the gas station. Longest sixty seconds of my life, I swear. And I can see them the whole time. This is pretty much what I look like.
Mom decided I need "practice" being left in the car. Now, before you go calling the ASPCA on her, rest assured she only leaves me for very brief periods of time. I'm not frying like bacon in the car, and I get toys and snacks while she's gone. Plus, I jack with her radio stations and change the settings on the driver's seat, so it pretty much evens out. Also, I'm a T-Rex. Satisfied?
Following is a combination Mom/Gracie description of how our Wal-Mart experience went down. You might be able to decipher points-of-view on your own.
Mom stops the car and I start panting and whining and climbing all over her like a complete psycho and try to jump out of the car with her.
Mom thinks she's completely clever and comes prepared with a Kong toy filled with a Kong treat and falsely presumes I will be more interested in said treat than I will be of following her out of the car.
I completely ignore Mr. Kong and proceed to smash my snout against the glass after she rudely slams the door in my sweet face. And I'M the one who's the "bitch"?
Mom travels to the rear of her Jeep and opens the hatch to get her shopping bags. Like a gazelle, I leap across the seats into the cargo area and into my Mom's waiting arms. She is so happy.
I am unceremoniously shoved back into the Jeep, yelled at, and Mom walks away. You can almost hear the bittersweet music playing in the background, for I know she shall never return, and I will be doomed to a life of misery. Even though she always comes back. Not to mention, she needs the car to get back home. But that's beside the point.
Do I then embark on a wonderful Kong adventure? No. I bark and bark and bark and bark . . . you get the picture. Thankfully, Mom has left all the windows cracked so everyone in the parking lot can hear me better.
Even after Mom enters the Wal-Mart and the doors close behind her, she can still hear me barking.
So she says. She can't prove it.
I'm sorry. Are we boring you?
Mom digs in her purse to get her glasses case to switch out her prescription sunglasses for her regular ones. She discovers she's left the case in the car, where I am barking and barking and (supposedly) barking.
Mom CANNOT go back to the car for her glasses, for she knows this will make a bad situation even worse. She flies through Wal-Mart like a prisoner on the lam, hoping no one will call the authorities on this maniac in sunglasses. Don't let the smile fool you.
She looks stupid. And she can't see very well either. But since she's completely blind without her glasses, she's destined to look like an idiot. It's a good thing she's at Wal-Mart and not somewhere pretentious like the Dollar General.
She zips through the "quickie" lane and emerges in the bright daylight, where the sunglasses are, once again, appreciated.
She hears the not-so-faint barking of a familiar Tyrannoschnauzer.
OH! Tyrannoschnauzer is so happy to see MOMMY!!! BARK BARK BARK BARK!
Mom calls Dad and tells him what an angel I was during my ten minutes of imprisonment. I don't listen because I'm too busy trying to work the treat out of my Kong.
Because I NOW want my Kong more than I want life itself.
Life is so wonderful, isn't it?