Bad Dog

Bad Dog. That's what I have now. Apparently, it's "normal" for a dog's hormones to surge right now, which causes him to regress and ignore a lot of his learned behavior. Let me tell you. It's not normal in my book to get up with the naughty pooch, feed him, let him out, encourage him to do his business and have him turn around and run into your living room to violate it in ways that Britney Spears would even cringe.

He spent most of Sunday humping his dog bed. Matt and I would nervously giggle as the girls would exclaim "Look! Goerge is playing choo choo train with his bed!"

Oh yes, my friend. The scissors are coming. The scissors ARE coming.

The other night, my friend was over and we were assembling 1000 ladybug invitations. She asked me to change it to a cable music station, and remembering her tastes from college, I picked the one with the 80's hair bands. We're cutting away, when suddenly we hear growls coming from under the table.

"What's the matter buddy?" I ask the seemingly sleeping dog under the table.

"He must be dreaming." my friend adds.

He wasn't dreaming. Ten minutes later after a chorus of growls, bared teeth and raised haunches, we figured out George was watching the pictures of the hair bands on the tv, and is not a fan of tight leather pants or men using hair spray.

Sigh. I hope I can survive until his next vet appointment.