And there in, lies the rub. At least one of my dogs is an asshole.
Buzz came into our lives three years ago after a trip to Las Vegas (aka, the root of all bad decisions). I am fairly convinced that six days in Vegas was about four too many as I came home with a brain so addled with food and drink (and drink and drink and drink) that I actually thought that getting a puppy was a good idea. We went directly from the airport to the adoption center. My noggin was so fogged over that I didn't even flinch when they mentioned that the pudgy little puppy that was sitting in my lap might be part Great Dane. Nope, stripped of my better judgment and desperately in need of an Advil, I signed the adoption papers and brought home what grew into 55 pounds of anxiety wrapped in a blanket of crazy named Buzz.
Our primary concern upon bringing home Buzz was how our QCR (Queen Canine in Residence) Brownie,was going to take to the new addition. But that fear was completely misguided, because Brownie makes Mother Theresa look like Regina George. Brownie, who made a best friend out of our cat, Spike the Hotness Monster, who offered him regular nuzzle snuggles and happily shared the napping spot in the ray of sunlight that hit the living room rug in the late morning was NOT going to be our problem. Silly humans.
Meet Saint Brownie, our cat loving Shepherd, Basset, Lab Mix.
Ain't nothin' like a little inter-species lovin'. Brownie and the Hotness Monster mid-snuggle.
The real cause for concern was Buzz's mouth almighty. Like a toddler, Buzz was experiencing the world through the sense of taste. But unlike a toddler, he did not grow out of the phase when he reached adolesence, rather he upped his game and moved on to the hard stuff. Below is an example of how he chewed a metal "Beware of Dog" sign, as if to put an exclamation point at the end of the sentence. Pretty sure he is part goat.
And these. Are you clocking the size of that foot? Almost as big as his cinder block of a head.
And, more importantly, the jiggly grey matter inside of his mammoth cabeza. Dysfunction junction.
And then there's this. No words, really.
So let's summarize up what we have shown in pictures -
1) Jaws of death - He has the grazing habits of a mountain goat. He chews tin cans, paper plates, mulch, shoes (particularly likes stinky sneaker insoles) pens, pencils and glass. Yeah, he chews glass and anything else he can steal. Which is really the heart of the matter. Like Jimmy Conway in 'Goodfellas', what Buzzy really loves to do, what he really loves to do is steal.
2) Meat Hooks - Giant paws plus a penchant for digging makes for a backyard that looks like a minefield. And god forbid he paws you with one of his huge mitts, you end up black and blue. It's like going eight rounds with Clubber Lang.
3) Fear and Anxiety - A candidate for doggy Prozac if ever there was one, Buzz is afraid of EVERYTHING. He won't go outside in the morning unless Brownie is by his side. He stands at the open back door shivering, eyes darting to and fro for fear that monsters like the wind and squirrels and leaves might attack at any moment. A hot cup of crazy.
So, you might wonder why, after three years of paying to replace my kid's friends shoes, iPhones, gloves, scarves and other possessions that Buzz interpreted as snack food, why we still have him.
I don't have a lot of good answers around that question. Except that my husband loves him. Really has a soft spot for him, which is both sweet AND scary in its intensity. I mean, I love him too, but he gets on my last nerve because he hogs my side of the bed and he always brings disorder to any place that is clean and he eats our shoes and he does this weird thing when he's tired where he shows you his crotch (see above). I mean, ew, who does that?
When I really stop and think about it, it comes down to 10%. Because while Buzz spends about 90% of his waking hours in the creation of chaos, he is the first to greet you at the door with a desperate outpouring of love and relief that you are home and when he slows down for the night, he is snugly and affectionate and ridiculously sweet. That 10% keeps me going and keeps me sane as I shovel up the kitchen garbage for the third time today or drive off to the shoemaker to have new heels put on my favorite boots. I guess 10% is enough when its 10% of pure love. Or maybe I'm the asshole.