Before I go one sentence further let me say I do not hate animals. I do however hate the messes they leave behind and the aggravation they cause, the extra expense they incur, and the overall upheaval that ensues when you bring one of God’s creatures into the home.
Okay, with the PETA public service announcement out of the way let’s move on.
Meet Milo Dog. Absolutely the cutest damned dog I’ve ever seen. And as far as pets go I’m really a cat person. Never had a dog in my life. Always liked cats mainly due to their attitude.
Cats could really give a flying rat’s behind about you as long as the water and food bowls are full and the litter box is clean. Their aloofness resonates with me for some reason. I like the fact they are fairly low maintenance and they sometimes look at you with the “I wouldn’t pee on you if you were on fire.” glare. Gotta respect that.
But back to Milo Dog. He was left at a shelter when he was a few weeks old by some dude who obviously didn’t want him. The shelter named him Milo and my kids didn’t want to change his name. Milo comes to us by way of deception and guile.
I did not want Milo. I did not want any animal. I made my objections clear; money, time, effort, poop. All sound arguments punctuated with the putting of my foot down. As you can now tell my word and the weight of my foot have no meaning what so ever. My foot being put down means so little I actually took a break from typing this very sentence to take Milo out for one of his many pee breaks.
So the guile first. For months my wife has been texting me pictures of dogs left at an animal shelter. Sometimes she would make her supplication with the written word. Most of the time she would just text me the shelter mug shots of these lost mutts. However, once she realized I was too strong willed to be worn down in that fashion, she sent in the kids.
Out of the blue one or two of my midgets would come at me about getting a dog. One day I called their bluff. Go a week without me having to tell you to clean your room and we can get a dog. That was easy money. They never got close to a week. Barely made two days. No mutt for them.
Then the littles tried to guilt me. “We’re the only house on the street without a dog daddy.” Insert sad face and use whiny voice. Just to get a little fun out of it I responded in my best mocking voice, “Well Frank that makes us unique. I like unique.” Quick aside, we were soon not the only house without a dog. RIP Khaki. Still no mutt for them.
On their last attempt I sent them packing before they opened their cake holes. Still the kids made one more push. My reply, “Tell mommy to get a job and she can pay for the dog.” Somehow they interpreted that as me saying if we could get more money they could get a dog. So my well meaning albeit comprehensively impaired kids ran to their rooms.
Two piggy banks smashed later they were asking if they had enough. Then I fired off a terse text to the master mind herself explaining the hazards of using the kids as emotional pawns in her little game. Still no mutt for them. Daddy – 1 Kids – 0 Piggy Banks – (-2)
Then a deal was presented. She would no longer use the kids as human shields if she could check on the availability of one dog they all liked. If he was no longer up for adoption she promised she would stop damaging our children in her quest for another mouth to feed.
And que the deception.
As she is laying out this silly plan she literally gets a call from the shelter. Her application for Milo has been processed and approved. The mutt was ours if we wanted him. For anyone trailing behind, she had applied to adopt Milo long before she ever mentioned the deal. Trump isn’t even that deceptive.
Well as you can obliviously tell we adopted Milo Dog. Yeah, no. He will not have our last name. If you question the veracity of that claim, just dial up the animal hospital a mile up the street from our house and ask the vet what Milo’s last name is. Her answer will be Dog or NLM. (No Last Name). And I would bet her voice cracks a bit when she tries to answer. Let’s just say me and the vet will not be exchanging Christmas cards anytime soon.
Yeah Milo has grown on me. He listens to me almost without hesitation thanks to a few tips from our neighbor’s JB and Becky who have a similar dog. He nipped at me one time and another solid piece of advice from JB cured that instantly. He wags his tail so hard when I get home from work his whole little dog ass moves back and forth.
And yeah he sleeps on the bed on Mrs Frank’s Place side now that he can sleep through the night without getting up to pee. Our kitchen floors have never been cleaner. He obeyed even when I started calling him No Nuts Milo after he’d been neutered. He’s sitting at my feet right now as I type about him. But he’s not one of our kids. He’s still just a dog.
He’s Milo Dog. And he’s all ours.