Maximus

I hate that fucking dog.

I only consented to him in a moment of weakness.  That and I have a complete inability to say no to my family's reasonable requests and at the time, it seemed a reasonable request.  Perhaps I should consider getting evaluated for early dementia because my reasoning skills were really off that day.  (And for the record ELIZABETH (since I know you are reading this) a kitten is NOT a reasonable request (I have learned my lesson...(thank Charles for that one)) and I am perfectly capable of saying HELL NO to a kitten (and I wonder how many parenthetical statements I can include here (and we all know that being the extreme OCD person that I am I am going to go back and count every single fucking parenthesis (several times) to make sure they are all accounted for (and now I also have to keep typing to make sure I don't end this with a preposition because if I did the world will surely catch on fire))).)

Ahem.  Anyways.  I was thinking back to Alexis as a toddler (complete compliance with parental directives) and Spartacus as a puppy (you have a treat?  I'll do whatever the fuck you want, including and not limited to the doggie version of Gangham Style while simultaneously humping Katy Perry's leg).  I completely failed to take into consideration both the idea that the dog could have sub par intelligence and the fact that Charlie may or may not be getting command hallucinations for mischief from Beelzebub himself.

Maximus, was he human, would most likely qualify for some kind of MR/DD services.  He just doesn't fucking get it.  Or anything, really.  He lacks the ability to, say, find his way out from under a blanket.  Or listen to any command.  In his defense, I was not able to work with him the way I did the other two.  Back then, I only had two children, and in my defense, adding Charlie to that mix was similar to adding colicky triplets.  Plus I am now working full time.  But honest to God, there are some things that training can't fix and Maximus's brand of stupid is one of them.

He thinks that he is a goddamned lap dog.  I know people laughingly say that about their big dogs, but seriously, at least those other dogs get off your lap when you push on them.  He just flops over and falls right where he is.  It is like parts of his brain just spontaneously stop working.  Plus he doesn't get a hint.  I tell him to go away and to lay down and not 30 seconds later he is back, wagging his tail and being all, "Love me, love me!" At least the other two dogs will go lie down and make moon eyes across the room at me, which I can and do ignore. I really feel as though I am the abuser in this relationship because the fucker just keeps coming back for more...of course it doesn't help that I inevitably give in and pet the furry little bastard because I am a soft hearted fool.

Huh.  Maybe he is not as stupid as I thought he was.  I'll bet that little fucker is plotting with Charlie to overthrow me in my sleep at some point.  Either that or the two of them practice making me melt together, as well as laugh their asses off at how I feel badly later on when they are being assholes for mentally calling them assholes.