September 19, 2010

• Bum

  I love dogs.  This is a story about a dog I don’t love.  That dog was named Bum.  Bum tried to ruin my happy outlook on life, and possibly my entire childhood.  Here’s how.

  The warm sunshine smiled down upon our family as our newest member smiled a broad sloppy grin.  My dad told us that he was (thus the whole family was) dog-sitting for one of his acquaintances just for the weekend.  My father is simultaneously the most generous, most hilarious, and kindest man you might ever meet.  However, in this regard, sometimes evil preys upon the kind ones.

  It all started out well enough, as these things do.  Bum grinned his dog grin and slobbered his dog slobber and acted like any dog might in an unfamiliar territory; that is, of course, by peeing in every single houseplant it can find.  Though, in hindsight this was kindness from Bum, since later he would forgo the “I’m just visiting” politeness and pee wherever he was standing.

  Bum was aptly named.  Now I can’t prove that the dog magically turned dog food into vodka, but  he often acted that way.  Also, he had the intellect of a potato.  He also could not stop running.  As I’ve stated previously, all people have superpowers, perhaps dogs as well.  Bum could run.  He ran and ran and ran, but he never stopped.  I’m not sure if he could stop once he started.  He was like the Energizer Bunny’s mentally retarded cousin.

  The weekend Bum stayed with us went unsurprisingly slow.  In his drunken, continuously urinating stupor, Bum quickly made enemies of the entire family except for me.  I figured I would still try to like him even though he was dumb, destructive, and had less control of bodily function than a 2 month old.  I realize that no one should hate any other living thing, but Bum went the extra mile via stupidity. 

  He had never been house trained.  Somehow, we thought that we could fix that problem quickly.  When he proceeded to make a gigantic dump in the living room, we brought him back to the large poop.  The dog looked quizzically at us, wondering where it had come from.  He also liked to eat.  Anything.  Walls, carpet, plants, clothes, you name it, he’d give it a try.  Somehow, he also found a way to create unique odors that could melt steel.  However his primary problems was just running away from the house. 

  Granted, Bum never bit anyone.  No.  That would have been too easy, since then he would be dangerous and, well, you know, you’ve seen Old Yeller, right?  I think my brother might have tried to get Bum to bite him, just to take one for the team to frame the dog.  But he continued to stupidly look forward, peeing on himself and slobbering all over the tattered remnants of what was once a cassette tape collection.

  Finally, after the weekend, my father took Bum back to his owners.  His owners informed my dad that “oh, we don’t want Bum back, you can keep him.”  I’m pretty sure this has to be illegal somehow.  But, they used some Jedi mind trick on my dad and we ended up with Bum at our house.

  Now here’s where I got stupid (more so than normal).  It was a Sunday afternoon, and we had all just gotten back from church.  Bum was in the garage, where he lived, since we could not let him outside since he seemed, Forrest Gump-like, to be unable to stop running once he started. 

  So, in my church clothes, I decided to walk Bum around the garage.  We had a big garage and for some reason, Bum seemed to finally get it.  We ran in tight circles over and over and Bum worked right with me!  He stayed right on his leash.  I couldn’t believe it!  This was a breakthrough.  When I slowed, he slowed, when I stopped he stopped, when I ran, he ran.  I slight tug on the leash and he stopped.

  It was simply amazing.

  This is the part where I wish I could tell you I didn’t do something incredibly stupid. 

  Then I did something incredibly stupid.

  Now, please remember, at the time I was quite young, I’m guessing 9 (or 12, or 22).  I might not have weighed more than the dog.  But somehow, I felt confident, CONFIDENT I tell you, that we had finally built a rapport.  My parents told us NOT to let out the dog since it bolted every time it was let out.  But, I felt the connection.  Bum and I finally had a link. 

  I opened the door to the garage.  The rest of the story is a haze due to the severe arse-whooping the dog then proceed to lay down on me.

  After the first 200 yards of being dragged behind a freedom crazed dog through the woods behind our house, I realized that I might be in a little bit over my head.  However, my arm was stuck in the leash, and Bum didn’t really mind the extra weight.  I yelled for help but my family was inside.  Insert another 1,000 yard of being dragged through mud, grass, dirt, leaves, trees, shrubs, briers, and every sort of backyard foliage once could find and I finally manged to get my arm out.  Bum zipped off to the horizon, happily peeing and crapping as he went.

  Ow  +  Oops  =  Ooowps. 

  I dragged my tattered, bloodied church-clothes wearing self back to my house.  My parents, thankfully, were concerned about my health.  My brothers, as per my memory, had to leave the room so they would not wet themselves from laughing so hard. 

  We did manage to find Bum eventually.  He was over a mile from the house, at the local Dairy Queen. 

  Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t remember exactly what finally happened to Bum.  I’ll just assume he’s in doggy heaven now, drooling over everything, running aimlessly in no particular direction, making yellow stains on poofy white clouds.

  RIP you stupid bastard.

  • 11:55 pm
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