Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Last night around 10:00 PM or so, I made my way upstairs to get a drink as I do just about every night when I run out of drink. This night, however, would prove to be quite different from any other night before it.

I open the basement door, and I see a moving furball on the floor in front of me. It made it's way over to the kitchen door and sat there. And then it began to growl.

I pushed my initial thought out of my head (which was to go back downstairs and get my shotgun), and instead decided to take a closer look at this alien being that seemed to have made a home in the small area between my kitchen and the main exit of my house.

It was a dog. A rather small dog, only a little bit bigger than a football, but a dog nonetheless. Once again, I pushed my initial thought out of my mind (which was to go back downstairs and get my shotgun), and instead proceeded into the living room to question the other residents of my household as to why such an animal was in my house.

The results of this interrogation where not forthcoming. Nor were they the answers I wanted to hear.

Apparently the dog belongs to my brother, who is at this time going through a divorce. He's living in an apartment now (indefinitely according to the results of my interrogations), and cannot keep the dog at the apartment.

The question that is still unanswered is why that is any problem of mine, and why it equates to having this animal in my house.

Now, I like animals. I own a cat -- he lives with me in the basement. And, animals like me. My cat is waiting at the top of the stairs to greet me every day when I come home from work, and he will attack me if I do not pay enough attention to him.

But I will admit that I am partial to cats. Not dogs. Dogs are noisier. They require more maintenance. They don't clean themselves. They have to be taken outside. They are bigger. They are dirtier.

I don't even know what kind of dog this is. It might be from another planet, I'm not sure, or perhaps from a radioactive sewer. That could be the case as well.

All I do know is that I don't like him, and he certainly doesn't like me. My household better hope I don't find the key to my gun cabinet.

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