January 04, 2012

            My dog, let’s call him “Teddy,” is a bigot.  “Teddy” simply refuses to tolerate anyone (canine-wise) whomn he views as “imperfect.”  (In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted here that my dog is a “retired” show dog—although “retired” at eight-months, when I got him, might also be termed “rejected”.)  But, in any event, should you place “Teddy” next to a dog who’s had a leg amputated, Teddy will go nuts, his bark seemingly and quite obviously saying, “There’s something wrong with you!”  Should you put him next to a dog who requires a rear-mounted set of wheels in order to get around, you’ll find Teddy there beside you screaming, in his doggy way, “There’s something wrong with you!”  Position him before an old guy, just dawdling along, just trying to be left alone to do his business—“There’s something wrong with you!”  A blind dog, a scarred dog, a burned dog, a dog missing an ear—and there Teddy is, saying, “There’s something wrong with you!”

            And then the unthinkable happened.  “Teddy” developed a limp.  He limped along to the vet for an emergency appointment.  He limped to the back of the office where exams were given, x-rays were taken, diagnoses were offered.  And the diagnosis was?  “He sprained his toe.”  The doctor actually laughed a little as she said it. 

            A sprained toe?  To see him hobbling around, one would think he’d broken his leg.  In four places. 

            Oh no.  His worst nightmare has happened.  The previously perfect individual has unwittingly joined the ranks of the imperfect, the undesirable, the untouchable.

            As an incurably curious person, I had to wonder how he’d react. 

            Turns out:  not great. 

            Turns out:  “Teddy” doesn’t know the canine word for empathy. 

            Even with his “injury,” there he is, hobbling along, trying to attack the blind and the legless and the wheelers.  And he has it against Welsh Corgis now, too.  Maybe it’s because they’re short.  Or maybe it’s because they look like they’re made up of leftover dog parts.  But for whatever reason, gimping along the sidewalk, “Teddy” will go after Corgis now, too. 

            I’m beginning to wonder if “Teddy” will ever grow out of this (his aggression and general douchebaggery, not his limp).  I’m also beginning to believe that he won’t.  But limp or no limp, douchebaggery or not, he’s still my dog and I’ll love him all the same.  But, it must be admitted, for the foreseeable future, it would probably be prudent of me to keep an eye out and, after spotting a disabled canine of any sort, drag my dear “Teddy” off of the sidewalk and into the middle of the street, risking going head-to-head with oncoming traffic, for there is very little to envy about being the guy with the crazy dog that’s trying to attack the blind, three-legged Cockapoo.  Nobody wants to be that guy.  Particularly your own loyal Recent Paterfamilias.  


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