You need a newer browser.

09/18/25   
The story behind, under, and back and to the left of the story

No Dog Will Run My Life

bio/email
January 16, 2001
Uproar has swept over me, good people. You want to know why? You want to know WHY? I can't hear you! That's better.

This morning, my good wife of thirty years, Arvelyn, suggested maybe it's time we possibly consider getting a dog if that's okay with me. Why, I was truncheoned! How dare she bring a new family member into our little fold without consulting me!

Sure, we've had discussions like this before: parakeets, goldfish, rats that don't live in the walls. There was one time Arvelyn was pretty adamant about getting a cock, and I never thought I'd wear her down. But eventually logic prevailed and with the price of a chicken coop and feed continually skyrocketing, she realized it was just a fantasy.

And now this dog thing rears its ugly cold-nosed head. From the sheer force of her words—"I think I'd like a dog, Rokwell,"—I don't think she'll be swayed. It may even be pointless trying. But even if we end up getting the dog, I don't like the way she's carried out this campaign of propaganda and brute force.

In the past we've sat down at the family table for these sort of discussions—I in my great big chair, Arvelyn in her slightly smaller chair, Makeshift, our cat, in his tiny chair that's just right. And we've talked about this like adults, at least Arvelyn and I have, Makeshift sometimes just licks his butt in quiet dissention. But these rough and tumble guerrilla tactics don't sit very well on the head of Rokwell T. Finger.

I dread the thought of it now: playing fetch, drinking out of the toilet, dropping feces left and right—all of that will have to stop once I assume the responsibility of dog ownership. Not to mention the miniature birthday parties with the dog wearing a tiny tux and I have to eat whatever kind of cake he chooses, even if it's chocolate swirl or marble—I will not have it, good people. Again—I. Will. Not. Have. It.

I think in the meantime I will put an ad in the paper, to stall Arvelyn's dog search. She will be convinced I'm all for it, but the ad will have such high expectations that no dog could possibly live up to it. A sample would read:

"WANTED: Empowered, professional-minded canine with own dish. Must be able to fetch, cartwheel, drive large-engine truck, shake, converse at length on the works of Victor Hugo, proficient in MS Word, Excel, Lotus, Quark X-Press. Starting salary of belly-scratchin' and Kibbles 'N' Bits 'N' Bits 'N' Bits. Must read ad and respond in person. No Schitzus."

Ha! I'd like to see the dog who could fit that bill.

And if one does give us a call… God help us all.


Quote of the Day
“The good die first. Then, the not-so good. Then the ugly. Strike that, the ugly should die first. Can I start again? If there are any good left, don't kill them yet, we've still got some uglies over here.”

-Billiam Swordswart
Fortune 500 Cookie
The next time you give a dog as a gift, why don't you try poking some holes in the cellophane, ay handyman? Here's something to chew on: gum. Remember: you can't hurry love, but you can get your ass in motion when you're blocking the express lane, chunky. This week's lucky ducks: Donald, Daffy, Dontrelle, Fukka.


Try again later.
Least Popular Howard Stern Guests
1.Tina Harper, Professional Soccer Mom
2.Pocket Pete, the world's smallest Stern fan
3.Rhonda the Shy Stripper
4.Frank Melton, the lookalike who doesn't look like anybody in particular
5.Don Imus
Archives
People Think I'm Johnny Carson
The most hilarious thing happened the other day, faithful readers. As is per usual, I was on the phone to odor the special deodorant I use from Quebec. Anyone familiar with me knows I tire of the French fairly quick, and the only thing that... (1/16/01)

Doin' Fine
I must say with one-cup astonishment, two cups of mistrust, I'm doing perfectly well this week. That's right, Rokophiles, Mama Finger's boy has no outstanding bones to pick or societal ills to attack. Oh, sure, I imagine there's plenty of bad things... (12/15/00)

God Owes Me BIG TIME
Some people act like God owes them something... just because they were born! As if being given the gift of life entitles them to something other than each and every lucky breath they take. Nosiree Bob. Look at my face! Now you know damn well... (11/15/00)

more