Dear Bogey the Dog

In my life, there have only been a few animals that did not like me.



This first I can remember was my mother's lhasa apso.  Ginger only loved my dad and vengeance, so I stayed clean of that mop of death.  I remember having a recurring dream where that dog attacked my face to try to get some cheese that I was eat.  I am not sure it ever really happened, so I adamantly insist it did. 

Why Matthew McConnaughey had the dog, I have no idea. 

 Then, came the maincoons.  For some reason, that breed of cat has never completely cottoned to me.  First came Sweet Lou, a rescue I even helped nurse back to health.  I was rewarded by guarded stares and general lethargy.  Later, my friend Karl Spackler would adopt a different mainecoon, Chairman Meow.  Meow is a sneaky one.  Her presence is never seen.  She is only know by the sound of scurrying and a hint of wind whipping past you. 

Until now, the worst has been the unholy bastard dog owned by my sister.

The cone is for our protection

He is some sort of mutt mix of a border collie, an Oscar Meyer train whistle, and the entire cataloger of Soulja Boy's discography.  He is loud, destructive, and about as loveable as a bad case of crabs.  Worse, I proved that he was a drug user.  I told him, "Buster, hugs not drugs. Come hug me!"  He barked for the next thirty seven hours and then swallowed a button.

I genuinely love animals.  I just want to pet them, and hug them, and hold them until they can't handle it anymore.  It pains me that these poor animals will not allow me to love them.  However.  I like to think that these are isolated cases, because, other than the detestable Buster, the animals don't like too many people in general.  My hopes were dashed when I met Bogey.

Bogey belongs to my friend Dave.  He is a mix of a chihuahua and a dachshund and all I heard forever was how loveable and loving this dog was to everyone.  Every time I'd visit Dave, Bogey was away visiting Dave's parents.  Recently, Dave moved, and Bogey was with him all the time, so I was finally ready to get the hugging going. 

Let us just say, Bogey was not as advertised.  He first named the nickname "Dour Dog", because he always looks like this:

 

No matter the circumstance, Bogey looks like he's learned that the world is unfair, and that nothing he every wanted to accomplish can be achieved.  Dave has seen this dog shed real tears when it was worked up.  I can deal with this, but for the fact that if I enter a room, Bogey immediately positions himself behind Dave's legs.  Only Dave can protect him from the giant that is clearly there to rape and/or eat him.  Dave tried to trick him, and picked him up and handed him.  If a dog has ever screamed "Unwanted Touching! I need an adult!", this dog did.  He was put down, and went back to the sanctuary of Dave's flip flopped feet. 

As I sat in Dave's living room, watching an ungodly bad movie on Chiller, Bogey sat forlornly on top of a nearby chair, staring despondently at me.  I looked at him, and he tried to sink lower into the fabric.  "Bogey", I said, "if you keep this up, I am changing your name.  Bogey is a fun name.  You are a Debbie Downer."   Bogey went boneless and slowly oozed to the floor, hoping to go unnoticed as he sought refuge with Dave. 

"Ok, that's it.  Your new name is Stephan.  Stephen Brontalewski.  Not even Steve.  You are too uptight to be a Steve."

Little puppy tears welled up in Stephen's eyes as I sat and pet the cat.  He slowly crept over, fueled by jealousy and an unflattering nickname.  The cat rolled in ecstasy as I scratched him stomach.  Stephan slowly found his way onto the couch, and insinuated himself between myself and the cat.  He stared at me, and I at him.  I hoped this meant that he was finally ready to be friends.

Instead, Stephan Brontalewski dramatically rolled onto his back in a very "Paint me like your French women" pose, and gave me a look like, "This is it.  Be gentle." 

The mood was ruined, and he continues to be Stephan to this day.