"He always took his job as Man's Best Friend very seriously... " Until that bitch showed up. She took over his life, and his relationship with The Man never recovered. Her and her bobtail, her piebald flanks, her legs, short and shapely, motoring along in an invisible whirl; her withers, waggling off-kilter; her aroma, after she’d had a good roll outside, reeking like a day-old intestine-ey smear of midsummer roadkill, was a whiff of heaven. He figured at first he could deal with all that and keep on the up and up with The Man, who after all he was supposed to be Best Friend of, but when that bitch went into heat he could barely see straight, much less attend to his duties. He’d get so worked up he’d practically be hallucinating, as blood rushed from his brain to his nethers, and his stride, always a source of pride with its purebred jaunty perfection, just fell apart until he was stumbling like a rubby-dubby dingdong on a booboo bender. But that’s the way it was, with bitches. Time came around, and he’d start thinking with his weewee, and then it was all over. The Man noticed. “Whuts the matter, big feller?” he said once. But only once — after taking his pants to the cleaners, The Man kept him at a distance, and no matter how seriously he took his job, The Man was leery ever after.
*Sigh* What. A. Moron.I seriously don’t get this guy. He roams around from room to room wagging his stupid little tail and occasionally looking over at me with that stoopid panting face. I swear, I’ll knock that panting face into next week if he gets within striking distance of me again.Oh perfect. There’s the five o’clock bell from the ward. Mr. Happy is going to go from annoying panting dust-buster to practically peeing himself waiting for that human-ish person to get back.That’s right, pick up the leash and hold it in your mouth. That’ll make him come home faster. Mr. Happy is probably the type to keep pressing the elevator button several times because it will make the car arrive faster. Inbred puppy farm trash.*Sigh* Hmm. What’s that outside? Well, hello Mr. Pigeon—we meet again. I’m just going to flip my tail and pretend to not see you.Oh perfect. The sound of the keys from that human person and Mr. Pants-a lot is barking up a storm. God I hate that thing. But at least I’ll have the place to myself for a while.Look at them. I mean seriously, down in that park, in the outside mind you; that human person keeps throwing that ball again and again and that stupid fur-ball keeps running after that thing and bringing it back. HELLO! HE’S GOING TO KEEP THROWING IT AND MAKE YOU KEEP RUNNING!What an idiot. “ACK, ACK!!” Stupid hairball—oh, there’s my toy mouse!Man’s best friend. Whatever.Oh God. They’re back. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact. Oh no, he’s coming this way.Don’t even think about it! Hey… hey, hey, hey… Put me down! I don’t want to be… hmm. *sigh* I said, don't’… yeah, ok, right there. Little higher. Fine. You can carry me for a while, but I don’t have to like it.
He always took his job as Man's Best Friend very seriously, which was strange because I loathed the animal. All drool and shit, and sure he was fun to pet, but at what cost? Literally the cost was around 450-600 dollars just in cash. No matter where I tried to hide my wallet he'd seek it out - maybe scent from too many pieces of chew smushed into it, maybe just my ass, but at least once a week I'd wake up with cash shredded, and Man's “Best” Friend's face painted in slobbery expectation as if he'd just hunted down a rabbit for dinner. Only now, I couldn't afford dinner.He wasn't mean spirited, just powerfully stupid. Godlike stupidity. The pretend-to-throw-the-ball trick would work on him so many times I eventually got tennis elbow from it. After the first 3 months it lost all humor. Everything with him was a chore. You'd teach him one trick and he'd forget the one you taught before. Teach him to sit, he forgets how to come. Teach him to come, he forgets how to stay. Tedium at it's finest... and he ate my birthday cake every year until I got locks for my fridge.But, while I dream nightly of Old Yellering him, I know he thinks fondly of me, and well, I suppose that deserves at least a bullet in the front instead of the back.
Han always took his job as Man’s Best Friend very seriously… way too very seriously. He was always way to very excited to see the guy when he came home. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice when the servant who feeds you finally gets home to do his freaking job, but no reason to freak out and run around in effing circles like a ‘tard… eh hem, excuse me, inappropriate… meow… Anyway, if Han would’ve learned not to eat all of his food in one fell swoop then he wouldn’t have to sweat the guy coming home late with one of those giggly versions of himself. Though I have to admit the giggly versions smelled nice. Not sure what their purpose was as they never did anything for us. And yet Han would get excited as usual, run around in a dumb (better?) circle and then the embarrassment of all embarrassments, piss on himself. Really, dude? Am I being bitchy? Or is it catty? I just like to keep things real… you know, I know my place. On top. That’s right. Han treats the guy as his master so he gets treated like a minion. Fetch, go get it, good boy… good boy and a condescending pat on the head? Dribbled like a basketball? Hell no. I like being stroked… feels good and smoothes out the coat. Purrr… but Han was always optimistic. Admired him for that. And he was a great playmate. Never complained when I went Mike Tyson on him and swatted him around. And though he was a bit smelly and had zero appreciation for self-hygiene he was a world class cuddler and could snuggle with the best of them. I’ll miss having him around in the colder months… I’ll miss having him around… that stinky old hound.
He always took his job as Man's Best Friend very seriously... Perhaps a bit too seriously.Whenever his owner would go, he would follow. Whether it be to the shower or to work, he would not leave his owner alone. His owner would always feel uncomfortable having his presence in the bathroom as he bathed, but his owner could never convince him to leave. It was causing problems at work, making everyone feel uncomfortable. Why couldn't his just let his owner be? Let him work and bring home the bacon in piece? Why not just let him shower in peace and privacy?No, he took his job very seriously. He was to always be there for his owner, no matter what. Being Man's Best Friend meant that he'd be with him every moment of every day, always by his side. If his owner ever needed him, he would be there. To bring him anything he needed and to provide comfort. Always by his side.It alarmed other people. No one could understand why. Why so much devotion? Why does the owner allow this happen? Let him follow him everywhere, into the bathroom, on the train, at work. What was his owner thinking? How could he allow such behavior?Perhaps no one understands the meaning of true devotion. Being completely committed to someone. To love someone unconditionally. Perhaps this idea is foreign to them. So exotic and weird.Is this what has become of our society? Have too many people cast away commitment? Is everything now just "take, take, take"? No more love? No more devotion? Is that what bothers them so?How sick our society has become then, if no one can understand true love. The true love that he feels with being Man's Best Friend.His owner is a lucky man; having another man act as a dog to be his pet.