CHOPPING BLOCK

If you read my blog with any regularity you know I have a dog, a small dog, but a dog nonetheless who goes by the name of Chewy. I’ve written about Chewy a few times on here so one could safely assume I love Chewy. Only because I love Chewy can I say the next statement and feel it’s no contradiction at all. I hate Chewy. No, I really hate him. The hate is not a constant thing, it comes and goes and varies in its intensity. Why or even how I could even hate such a creature who is so cute he makes Turkish gangsters melt into blubbering idiots cooing “So sweet!” must be on the forefront of your minds. Very simply, pee. That’s why I hate Chewy, pee. Chewy pees in places that are totally unacceptable, namely my sofa and my bed. For those people who don’t have a dog or cat, animal pee is not normal! They use it to do things human don’t, like mark their territory. Because of that it is ridiculously strong smelling and doesn’t wash out like juice or pasta sauce. I don’t care what anyone says, if you go to lay your head down in your bed and you make a splash… literally a splash in a puddle of pee you’d start to feel some negativity. Then while you’re washing your pillow cases, sheets, comforter and airing out your mattress you have to sleep on the sofa. Sleeping on the sofa in your own place when you have no visitors cause your dog has confused your bed with a tree??? Madness. Then, THEN, the little fucker peed on the sofa where I was meant to sleep! I’m a grown ass man who pays rent in his own apartment, sleeping on the floor ain’t cute or fun on any level! Can you see why the dark clouds are gathering?? Thing is, as angry as I was at him, there was this part of my brain that still registered he’s still a dog and wouldn’t understand my ranting. So I stomped around my apartment fighting the urge to yell at the furry non-English speaker and just made a “Fpffffffffff!!!!” sound. Guess it was an internal compromise between, “You lil muthafucca!! Are you muthafuccin retarded peein on my muthafuccin sofa AND bed?? MY muthafuccin bed and sofa??MY muthafuccin bed and sofa??? You KNOW yo muthafuccin ass is muthafuccin’ blessed, BLESSED you ain’t a muthafuccin human or I’d WHOOP yo muthafuccin natural born azz like you cursed out my momma!!” and complete silence which might’ve given me an aneurism. And Chewy knows what he’s doing is wrong cause as SOON as I am about to lay down in the pee he runs and hides. Bastard! What compounds this situation is I am currently looking to move into a new apartment. My brother wants to move to Berlin later this year so I need a bigger place for the both of us. I love Chewy and I have difficulty not ringing his neck when he pees on my things. My brother on the other hand has not had sufficient time to develop a bond with the dog. I’m thinking of Chewy’s life here people! I can already see the first time Chewy pees on my brother’s bed and not even Jesus would be able to save that dog’s life.

I needed a break from Chewy so I could think. The person who gave him to me was nice enough to take him so I could calm down and figure out my next move. All options are on the table, even giving Chewy away. This isn’t a new problem I’ve had with Chewy. Chewy has been gone for about a week. Was getting updates from this friend every day that he hadn’t peed, everything was OK… until yesterday. Chewy has struck again! He peed on something in her place AND her momma house! Damn Chewy! Her diagnosis is that Chewy has too much testosterone which makes him too alpha and contributes to him being so thin, her recommendation, neuter him. Cut his balls off!?!? I mean, I admit nothing has worked so far, but cutting his balls off seems a little drastic! Then again, I might be saving his life in the long run. My brother could crush 10 Chewys in one hand!! Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan…

So, me being me I needed to do some research, from what I’ve read dogs who are neutered live longer, are healthier and have a better overall quality of life than dogs who aren’t neutered. You know what the first thing is I thought? How many dogs did they interview 10 years after they had their balls cut off to come to that consensus?? Seriously, how do they define better quality of life? And if it does lead to a better quality of life, why hasn’t the medical community started recommending it for men!? I have never once in my life read in any men’s magazine that cutting off your balls is an option a man should ever consider. We should do some surveys and polls. If you are reading this blog, go and ask all the men you know if they would willingly chop off their balls if it was proven they would live longer and have a “better quality of life”. I can tell you RIGHT now I wouldn’t ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER consider being separated from my balls for one minute even if I was GUARANTEED and extra 20 years on my life. I am a firm believer that it’s not about how long your life is, but what you are doing with your life while you are alive. And it’s the whole balance thing, is it really a justified action to cut off a dog’s balls who pees on a bed and sofa?? Maybe I should just start peeing on his little doggy bed or something so he sees how it feels. I could like drink some garlic and asparagus tea all day to try and get my pee smelling as close to revolting as his does. That might change his outlook if he had to sleep in a pissy bed. Then I started thinking even more, when would cutting off balls EVER be a justified option when it’s not medically needed? It’s well documented that I used to be a cheater, I’m not proud of that; only stating a fact. But what if an ex-girlfriend decided to “correct” the problem and had my balls cut off!?!? The horror!! Now, would that action be an equal reaction to cheating.. I’m sure a lot of woman would agree it is! Luckily my ex just broke up with me and left me to learn my lesson in a different way. But, what if that is how cheaters were dealt with?? You know some cultures will split a woman’s nose so it looks like a vagina if she is caught cheating? While as bad as that is, it’s not nearly as bad as being stoned to death in other cultures. But no culture really deals with men who cheat. I am no expert, but if I had known 15 years ago that my balls would be cut off if I cheated on my girlfriend, no WAY it would’ve ever happened. No way in a MILLION years. Maybe I can use this with Chewy! Is there anyway I can express to him the possible consequences of him losing his balls if he continues on this course of action?? He is hella smart after all. ..

I don’t know what to do to stop him from peeing on my bed or sofa, but I do know that I’m not ready to choose him losing his balls as the solution to this problem… yet.

VALENTINE’S DAY RAMBLINGS

I wrote this yesterday, but I am in the mist of a long spell of my internet not working so only got to an internet cafe today to post it.

Have you ever wondered where unrequited love goes? Love is energy and energy can’t be created or destroyed, or so I’m told. How unfortunate the same does not apply to fears and dreams… fears can’t be created and dreams can’t be destroyed. Oh well… If love given by one is not accepted by another, where does it go then? Maybe wind is a byproduct of this refusal. I mean, how is wind created anyway? I must’ve missed that episode of the Discovery Channel. But why couldn’t wind in all its forms be unrequited love? The strong gales with the power to uproot huge Oak trees might originate from the anguished wails of a million spurned lovers raising their voices in a crescendo of cries in unison. Or the steady gusts that fill the sails of boats could possibly be a thousand broken hearted people chanting, “But I love them so much!” over and over in a perpetual rhythm that propels those ships to their holiday destinations. And those light breezes on Indian Summer days that make kites dance in the air and send brown leaves on acrobatic tumbles down streets perhaps are the long final sighs of hundreds whose head has finally convinced their heart to give up hope. That sudden draft which causes a shiver to run along your spine and recall old wives’ tales is only the small escape of air from the lips of a single forgotten lover who is trying to suppress their wretched sobs for the umpteenth time. Then again, it’s entirely possible that earthquakes are the end result. All that pounding of pillows in sorrow might be felt more acutely along fault lines triggering a seismic reaction.

On the other hand, I could be looking at this all wrong. Maybe love begets love. It is highly likely that the love someone rejects finds its way to the souls of small children and puppies and that’s why it is so easy for them to love unconditionally. It could even attach itself to the hands of grandmothers and that is the secret ingredient we can never duplicate in their special recipes. Now that I think about it, does unrequited love even exist? Love doesn’t shatter when the door is closed in your face and it surely doesn’t whither between the pages of a returned unread love letter. Love, in its purest form is never any less beautiful when it misses its intended mark. I guess some of us have to wait a little longer than others to see the results of where it’s landed… or we get pets.