I Need To Be Rescued From My Rescue Dog
And my family thinks it's funny
My wife rescued a cute female boxer
My wife rescued a boxer about a year ago. She’s a cute black boxer, whose name was “Princess” when we got her, but we changed her name to “Perseus.” We call her “Perse” for short. Tracy thought our other male boxer Atticus needed company.
Perseus does not like men. She must have been abused by males. Perse is about six-years-old. When we first got her, she was a real scaredy-cat, wincing and running away at the slightest sounds or movements. Mostly my sounds and movements. Perse clung to my wife Tracy like one of those protective dragons on Game of Thrones. Tracy could do no wrong.
When Tracy picked Perse up, the woman who rescues boxers told her,
“She doesn’t like men, and she’s real protective of me.” The Boxer Lady added, “Princess still growls at my husband.”
Perse really doesn’t like certain men. Like me.
Tracy brought Perse home, and our two sons fawned over her because she has a really cute, human-like face, with human expressions. You can always tell what Perse is thinking.
My sons are males. But Perse never barked at them.
But every time Perse sees me in the morning, she begins growling and barking. When we first got her, Perse would stand by the side of the bed where I was sleeping, and growl at me, waking me up. Waking me up to a new day. With her growling.
That kinda set the tone for a lot of my days. As a personal injury lawyer, I am confronted with lots of fake growling and barking all day long, on the phone, and in-person in court and at depositions. But this real growling and barking actually kinda disturbed me. It got to me, and I felt like an unwelcome stranger in my own home. My sons loved it.
As time went on
As time went on, Perse wouldn’t wake me but waited to growl and bark at me when she got downstairs with my wife.
As soon as my feet hit the hardwood floor, the growling would begin downstairs. Then I would mope down the stairs, with Perse growling and barking at me like Cujo. That went on for nine months. Every single day.
My rat fink sons still laugh when Perse growls and barks at me. They think it’s funny. I hear them laughing in their bedrooms. Or if they’re already at the breakfast table, they laugh and point at me while the dog barks.
I don’t try hard enough
Tracy would explain.
“You just don’t try hard enough. You need to get down on your hands and knees. Get down to Perse’s level and show her you’re a good person.”
I’m in the kitchen, and I have my back turned at this point, just trying to get a cup of coffee. Perse is growling ferociously, and now our other boxer, Atticus, gets in on the action because . . . why let Perse have all the fun.
Now the two dogs are leaping in the air and growling and barking at me, like the Dobermans in Magnum PI.
And I’m a “bad person” too
“Dogs know!” Tracy shouts.
Oh God no. Not the “Dogs and babies know” speech. Please God, no. Not the speech!
“Dogs and babies know! They know when a person is bad. They can sense it. They’re always right!” says Tracy.
The boys are laughing hysterically now.
“Yeah, Dad, you’re bad,” says Son #1, laughing his ass off.
My sons are traitors or no goddamn help at all
I look at Son #1 with a complete sense of betrayal on my face. Now I am bent over, with both my hands out defensively, with coffee spilling over the rim of the cup, as I try to back out of the kitchen, towards my man cave.
“It’s not an angry bark. See, Perse’s wagging her tail!” explains Tracy. Just like Tracy has explained it the last 225 days in a row.
Perse is now crouched, and the hair on her back is standing on end.
“You don’t try hard enough. It’s your fault,” says Tracy. “Don’t be such a . . . such a buffoon!”
Now that’s an interesting concept. Because several times, towards the end of the day, I’ve sat with Perse on my lap, and I’ve petted her gently. But every morning is like Ground Hog’s Day.
“Dad, I think Perse has Alzheimer’s disease,” said Son #2 while we were sitting in the jacuzzi one day. “I don’t think she has all her marbles in her head.”
“I think you’re right, son,” I said.
Perse is a bad influence on Atticus
Back to the kitchen. I continue to back away, like Odysseus retreating away from two, er, Cerberus — es.
When I think the time is right, I turn and do my Olympic “fast walk” for the man cave door.
Atticus stays after me.
“Atticus, you old fool, quit acting like Perse!” I yell, trying to get a laugh from the sadists in the other room. “Perse, look what a bad influence you are!”
That’s when Atticus jumped up and bit my ass right through my Adidas dri-Fit running shorts, and made me throw my coffee up in the air against the ceiling.
The tips of his upper and bottom incisors touch one another, through the soft creamy flesh of my ass cheek.
"Jesus Christ! Ouch. Owwwwwww!”
Big laughs in the other room.
“Is he wagging his tail?!” I scream.
© Copyright 2020 Jack Clune
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