Mr. Charlton – Dog Owner

I own a dog, by proxy. My girlfriend came with a dog. So my extension, I now have a dog.

You see, I didn’t have a dog growing up as a kid. I had a cat. His name was Terminator, and he was a fluffy little badass. He wasn’t a very affectionate cat, and spend most of his time outside, killing mice and other small creatures. He’d bring us a trophy every once and a while, laying it out on the welcome mat for everyone. For the most part though, he kept to himself. So my background with animals is limited to a cat you rarely saw, and was capable of looking after himself.

This is Pookie Bear.

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The baddest dog on the planet.

It’s a teddy bear pomeranian, probably the most adorable kind of dog you could ever possibly own. And the little shit head knows she’s adorable. That’s the look of an animal who knows how to tug heart strings. Even though she’s thirteen years old, she still acts like a puppy for the most part. And it’s usually so she can get people to give her something.

Pookie didn’t like me very much at first. The last boyfriend and Pooks didn’t get along so well, he refused to take it out for walks, saying it was emasculating. So the dog was wary of me at first. At one point, I had to take away a chew toy from her, because it was bed time. In an act of pure defiance, Pookie looked me straight in the eye, turned around, and still staring me down, peed right in front of me. I mean, this dog straight up just defiled the soil in front of me. It was the biggest ‘fuck you’ I’ve ever received, and it came from a dog.

When I first moved to Lethbridge, I was looking for a job, so I spent a fair amount of time at home. So I started taking Pooks for walks. This seemed like the natural thing to do. You have a dog, you walk it. It was winter at the time, and Pomeranians are basically little Husky dogs, so she seemed to like it. After a few months, Pookie started warming up to me.

Now when I leave, Pookie sits by the door, waiting for me to come home.

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Visual proof that I do not have a heart made of stone.

Even though me and Pookles are getting along just fine now, I still wouldn’t really consider myself a dog person. I like this dog, but I still find other dogs kind of obnoxious. Pookie rarely barks, is house trained, and spends most of her day napping. She’s not a very good lap dog either, and won’t spend any time cuddling people. She’s basically a cat.

Pookie is getting old though. At thirteen, she’s a senior citizen, and has already gone through a major operation to remove a tumour. She’s going deaf, and we think she’s starting to go blind as well. The worst thing about owning an animal is you’re probably going to outlive it. But, she’s still in good health, has most of her teeth, and I can still take her for walks. So she’s got some time.

A year ago, I would have told you I’d never own a dog. And now, here I am, taking the little fluffy ball of jerk out for walks in the park. The once frosty heart of Mr. Charlton is thawing, and it’s partly due to a dog that gave me the largest metaphorical middle finger I have ever received. And maybe that’s why I like her so much. Out of all the insults that have ever been tossed in my direction, from friends and foes alike, no one else has pissed right in front of me while maintaining eye contact.

Bravo, Pookie Bear. You are officially the biggest asshole I know.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. How own Earth can you call walking a Pomeranian emasculating? It’s the manliest dog on the planet. Let’s say I’m taking the dog for a walk, and I run into a bear. Now, if I had a pitbull or a german shepard, they would help me ward off the bear. With a tiny dog, like a Pomeranian or a toy poodle, not only do I have to fight a bear, but now I have to defend the dog as well. And that is way manlier.

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