Friday, January 7, 2011

Cliche part 2, dog ownership...

So to add insult to cliche injury, my girlfriend and I got a dog. A black Scottie named General Wallace. In all honesty she's been hounding me, (that's right, I did it)... for almost a year. I was fighting it due to added money, responsibility, and my general lack of interest in doing anything worthy with my free time. She also wanted a French bulldog, and I happen to have an ethical issue with their breeding and general "Williamsburg" nature. I thought they were tough, but their owners typically fill the undersized genes and over sized scarves demographic. Classic macho to sissy juxtaposition. Almost like 3 of the most famous sporting anthems being written by blatant homosexuals.

But now that the little guy is here, I'm happy we did it. In my estimation, most of the people in America have to settle for 3 things to stay sane in adulthood. Addiction, parenthood, or religion. I'm already addicted, and that only keeps me mildly sane, with a small side dish of murky apathy and paranoia. Religion, well...that ship probably sailed a long time ago, bearing some sort of awakening or rapture. And now comes parenthood. Actually being responsible for a life that cannot be responsible for itself. I had some experience with my nieces, but if this dog gets fucked up, it's on us. I guess with that comes a great pride, sense of responsibility, and hopefully some sort of warm and gushy feeling when he licks my nose or something.

As a 17 year vegetarian who typically adheres to the policy of "don't fuck with the natural order of animal and man", I begrudgingly accept the role of "master", for I don't enjoy telling once wild animals how to behave. I think it should roam, chase and maybe even kill without human intervention. But domesticity does exist, and now I sit in my living room, listening to the cries of an 8 week old puppy who desperately needs me to feed it, love it and sort of treat it like an equal...with a shit ton of rules and regulations added on. Human babies are a handful, but at least they don't feast on their own excrement. Also, they grow up and hopefully start taking care of you, dogs grow up and then die. Too dark?


  1. Hey Benny, with regards to humans not feasting in their own excrement, I'm fairly sure I did a wee in my mouth when I was a baby - does this count? Does this make me a dog? Hope you are well, yours sincerely, Paws. X

  2. Aw, proud papa! But in all seriousness, I fully expect to share pictures and possibly video of our dogs next time I see you guys. It's standard order of business with Ian already!

    I hope you have, uh, enjoyed that Fat Boys record my husband and I gave you in Chicago. You should probably be afraid; there have been a few instances where my husband has exclaimed, "man, this is terrible, I think Benny would be interested!" but I'm not sure if he's developed a pile of all things awesome for you yet. We seem to be getting a shipment of vinyl in the mail almost every day at this point and I've found that people like to pack "extra" records just as box stuffing. It has led to some glorious things, I guess you could say.

  3. Would love to see a photo and what's his (her )name ???