Doggone Dogs

I hate dogs. I can not lie. It does not mean I want vile things to happen to them. I just don't care for them. Other people like them. That's cool. I'm just not an animal person. Especially when they are in my home.

We have a dog, or should I say a wildebeest. He's an old man now. He turned 8 in February. Cutter, my dog, shares a birthday with Ronald Reagan. Of course, he is no Ronald Reagan and shares none of President Reagan's charming qualities.

When my husband and daughter first brought Cutter home as a mere puppy, I informed them he would be an outside dog. I was quickly vetoed. So, I set out right away to train him in proper indoor living etiquette. Now Cutter is not a stupid dog, though he does stupid things all the time. He is very obstinate and hard headed but when the husband is not around I have no problems with him at all. He promptly responds to my voice and hand commands on the spot. I say "when my husband is not around" because Cutter is smart enough to know that when my husband is around he will "protect" Cutter and Cutter knows he can break every rule he knows without fear of reprisal. And, he does.

Yesterday, I had Cutter and the boys outside so they could play and run around. Everything was wonderful - until the hubs comes home. No sooner is the hubs out of the vehicle Cutter is shooting off into the woods - refusing to follow my command to come back. This is not the first time Cutter has done this.

Cutter shows up after about 2 hours, tail between his legs and whining like a little girl. He has a huge open wound on his side and a large piece of flesh missing. I call the hubs at work and inform him he needs to take the dog to the vet. Three hundred dollars later he brings the dog home with 7 stitches and a drain in his side - a large gallon jug of "something" and a syringe that we must use to flush his drain 3 times a day. Can anything be more repulsive? I don't think so. He was also given some antibiotics that he must take 2 times a day and a pain killer to be given once a day. I can handle that.

It's probably a combination of trauma, pain and the pain killer that has made my dog absolutely insane. He literally is under my feet. I take a step. He takes a step. I sit down. He attempts to crawl in my lap. This would not normally be a big deal but this beast weighs 117 pounds. Not exactly a lap dog and not easily removed when he decides he wants something.

Now don't get me wrong. I feel bad for Cutter. I am a compassionate woman, but I have my limits. They were met last night when Cutter, in his insane moment, not only placed his nasty oozing filthy disgusting self in our bed when we were trying to sleep, but then he decided to challenge me - his master. Not only did Cutter refuse to get out of my bed, but my husband is telling me "let him relax a little" and then we will get him down. Needless to say this did not go over well with me. But, it got worse. As I gently placed my hands around Cutter's upper body, where there is no injury, and began to gently attempt to pull him down Cutter decided he was going to challenge me and bite me.

Now the bite is not at all bad. It was actually more of a "warning." Needless to say, my compassion ended and "it was on." Suffice it to say I had that dog out of my bed within 2 seconds and sleeping in the garage. I promptly informed the husband if there was a problem he could sleep in the garage with Cutter. Under normal circumstances I would never speak to my husband this way. He was just a tad surprised but I think he understood just how serious I was.

The dog (and the husband) have been very humble today. Cutter seems to be doing well. A little stiff, which is to be expected but he is back to "knowing his place." And I think even my hubs through all of this has learned a lesson.

We will see.