I thought I would throw in a brief Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Jr. (from herein, we shall refer to him as “Vonnegut”) story to help break up the monotony of tales regarding an aging idiot.
Everyday, Vonnegut sleeps in my bed, under my covers, and squished up against me. When I have company over and it is time for bed, he is normally wedged awkwardly between us, or as a best case scenario, down by my legs. From time to time, he must be forcibly evicted from the bedroom, lest he get between company and myself during an entirely different awkward scenario. Needless to say, I love the beast, but he can be quite a handful at times. On the nights where he must be kicked out of the room, he acts like a total bastard, normally ripping something up or shitting inside, if he feels up to the task. Once the door has been opened, though, he lovingly follows me around and tries to make up for whatever woes he has inflicted upon the house. Vonnegut isn’t a bad dog, but he is just needy at times. He lets me know that he didn’t mean to be a total bastard by licking and/or biting my hands, face, shirt, pant leg, or really anything else within his reach. You can’t stay mad at anyone who is licking your face, right?
Most days, if anyone walks on the sidewalk, a dog is outside, or his nemesis the UPS truck happens to be anywhere near our house, he alerts anyone with ears that he is ready to destroy. One night in particular, after he had to be escorted from my room (and subsequently let back in), he thought he would one up his patrol game to prove his worthiness of being my protector. On this night, he decided that while following me into the bathroom to pee, that the little rabbit decals I’ve had on the mirror for years were obviously up to no good. In order to complete his patrol, he walked hunched forward on his back two feet (think pug-faced Igor) – something he decides to do when he wants to look extra ridiculous. On this night, the no good laminate decal rabbits had thoroughly ignited Vonnegut’s ire. He decided that the absolute best time to wage war on these two dimensional plastic bunnies was while I was urinating.
At first, I had no idea what was happening. I thought maybe there was a bug I wasn’t seeing, so promptly after shaking off, I started looking around for the culprit. Vonnegut was still barking madly, which meant I wasn’t getting any warmer to curing the source of his dismay. In a last ditch effort I picked him up and placed him on the bathroom sink. He then sniffed the rabbits, and with his curiosity sated looked, at me as if I was an asshole for putting him on the counter. Clearly, I should have known all along that these easter bunnies of doom were up to something. And, since he had successfully alerted me to their plan, he was deserving of some grade “A” snuggling.