The Wolf Mother Speaks (Comedy Open Mic #8)

“Liam. No!” I don't even have to look at him to know what he's doing. But I can't hear him so he must be doing something I don't agree with.

A friend jokingly calls me “The Wolf Mother” and he's not wrong. I own four dogs. One of those, the biggest one, is a Czechoslovakian Wolfdog.

^{Look at that face. How could you say no to that? And the dog is cute too, don't you think?}

Genetically, Liam is about fifteen percent wolf. That number, however, is no guarantee for the amount of wolfish behaviour a wolfdog will exhibit. Physiologically, Liam is much more wolfish than his DNA would predict.

^{Innocence personified. Right? Wrong!}

I love him. Don't get me wrong. But not a week goes by when I don't think: “Goddamnit. He's going to live for ten more years.”

That dog is not only too smart for his own good. He's also creative and resourceful. That combination has me cursing his ass on an almost daily basis.

He opens every door. Every gate. You know those childproof safety gates that your average adult had trouble opening and closing? Yeah. Liam has no difficulty whatsoever.

He opens the fridge and the freezer and helps himself to an all-he-can-eat buffet. Of MY damn food. He likes fish fingers but gets tired of them when the box is half empty, leaving the rest to defrost on my kitchen floors.

David only has to come home to a crapton of fish fingers frying to know what happened. “Liam get into the freezer again?”

^{The gluttonous beast in all its glory.}

One time, I'd spent hours making mini frittatas to serve as finger food at a party. I had to get something from the shed and noticed one of Liam’s ears twitching. “Oh no, you don't, Bub,” I said. The wily beast was pretending to sleep, so I made him drag his ass off the couch and go outside with me.

He proceeded to play in the yard so I went around the back of the house to feed my Disney villains. (FYI: I don't have people or cartoon characters chained up in my shed. My chickens are named after Disney villains: Ursula, Yzma and Jafar.)

Anyway. I returned to the front of the house, only to see a big hairy butt shoot out of my open kitchen door and scoot around the house like the devil was after him, tail tucked between his legs. I already had an inkling of what he'd been up to and steam began to rise from my ears as I gritted my teeth.

“Goddamnit Liam! What did you do!?” I ran into my kitchen to find my oven door open. The mini frittatas I'd slaved over gone. Not a crumb left.

That jackass opened a kitchen door with a handle that sticks, as well as the door of my oven while it was still on! He then managed to grab scorching hot frittatas from equally hot molds AND HE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO BURN HIS TONGUE!

The culprit crawled back around, staring at me from the doorway of my kitchen, tongue lolling out. Trying to look relaxed but I knew he'd bolt at the first sign of rage. I also knew it was no use planting my foot against his ass. I was more likely to break my toe than to do more than tickle him. Goddamnit.

I called my significant other. “YOUR DOG ATE MY FRITTATAS!”

Sputtering greeted me from the other end of the line. “Now hon. Calm down.”

If there's one thing you shouldn't do when I'm pissed off, it's telling me to calm down. That's the day my husband finally learned that lesson. I think. Time will tell.

Now… There are perks to having a huge, wolfish-looking dog with a yellow-eyed death stare. I can walk through the busiest, most crowded marketplace or fair or carnival. People will always give me plenty space.

If they don't at first, they learn quickly after Liam has tried to grab the hotdog from their hands as they try to bite into it.

Sometimes people walk up to me and ask to pet him and he loves that and will charm the pants off them. Especially if they smell like they're carrying edible or semi-edible goods.

“Wow, Miss. That is one gorgeous dog. Where did you get it?”

I never answer that question. He's beautiful, and he's sweet and I love him. But he's not the type of pet you get without preparation or without copious experience handling dogs.

And as much as I love him, I don't think my family will ever be ready for another idiot like him.

What are your experiences with smartass pets? Misery loves company so do share. ;-)

Hugs

Tiny

P.S. I nominate @swelker101 (sorry Shane!) and @hispeedimagins

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