How Wude!

, , , , , | Friendly | October 12, 2017

(In our neighborhood lives a mockingbird who used to drive me crazy. I can only tolerate him now because he learned a new phrase from some kids playing Star Wars:)

Mockingbird: “Jar Jar BINKS! Jar Jar BINKS! Pew! Pew! Pew!”

(Imagining Jar Jar being shot is satisfying in itself. Add in the amusement factor of a literal birdbrain understanding how very irritating Jar Jar is, and it makes me smile every time.)

Haven’t Got A Dog’s Chance

, , , , , , | Related | October 9, 2017

(I have a dachshund who weighs about 11 pounds, full grown. Many people feel that it was okay to pick him up. He is a very sweet dog, and at this point has never snapped at anyone, but as he’s aged he has started to growl a bit when children try to carry him. I also have a niece, twelve years old at the time, who has always been a bit of a brat and a bully. This occurs as my six-year-old nephew is reaching for my dog.)

Me: “[Nephew], that isn’t a good idea. [Dog] is a grumpy old man now and doesn’t like to be picked up.”

Nephew: “Does he bite?”

Me: “He hasn’t yet, but I’d rather not risk it. Why not just pet him gently instead? He likes that.”

(My niece, who heard the entire thing, decides then to step in.)

Niece: “Oh, please. He won’t bite; just watch.”

Me: “[Niece], don’t!”

(Before I can stop her, my niece grabs up my dog and cradles him in her arms on his back like a baby, sticking her face close to his. She begins to baby-talk to him, only to be met with a fierce snarl and a quick nip to the nose. He doesn’t break any skin, but she shrieks and almost drops him before I can take him from her.)

Niece: “What?! He bit me! Stupid dog!”

Me: “You should have listened.”

(My nephew begins to pet my dog, who responds by licking his fingers.)

Nephew: “You’re the only stupid dog here, [Niece].”

(My niece stormed off to tell her parents, who informed her that she shouldn’t have ignored what I said. She never messed with my dog again, and my dog never bit at anyone after that. He actually became quite fond of my nephew, who always made certain to be gentle with him.)

Sudden Growth In Misunderstandings

, , , , , | Related | October 6, 2017

(My husband and I have just gotten a black lab puppy, and have introduced him to my parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews. At the point when this story takes place, it has been two weeks since my family has seen our new puppy, and he has grown quite a bit.)

Dad: “Hey, what happened to [Puppy]? Did you trade him in for a larger model?”

Me: *playing along* “Yeah, we didn’t think having him be that small would be good for the long run. Plus, this one can sleep through the night and go down the stairs by himself.”

(My nieces and nephews, all under age 10, come over to pet the puppy.)

Nephew: “So, what did you name this one?”

Me: “We thought we’d stick with [Puppy] to make it easier to remember.”

Nephew: “Wow! He’s a lot bigger than the other one!”

(A week or two later, my family is sitting on the porch talking.)

Dad: “I think we should tell [Nephew] that you didn’t actually trade [Puppy] in for a bigger one, and that [Puppy] just grows a lot faster than [Nephew].”

The Cuban Puppy Crisis

, , , , | Related | October 3, 2017

(My family has recently become proud owners of a six-month-old border collie. She has quickly become the light of our lives, but she becomes very attached to my dad right away. One day, my dad and I are driving with our dog in the back seat. She is really enjoying the ride, switching from one window to the other with a huge grin on her face. My dad looks in the rear view mirror and starts baby-talking to her.)

Me: “Aww, Dad, you really love [Dog], don’t you?”

Dad: *jokingly stoic* “NO!”

Me: “Yes, you do. You don’t use baby talk for anybody.”

Dad: “Cubans don’t love dogs!”

(My dad is half English, half Scottish, and very pale, so no chance of any Cuban heritage. I look at him, confused.)

Me: “But you’re not Cuban.”

Dad: *confused* “No, I’m not.”

(We sit there in confused silence for a minute or two.)

Me: “Then why did you say, ‘Cubans don’t love dogs?'”

Dad:Humans don’t love dogs.”

(The exchange was so funny, we now use it as inside joke every now and then.)

Doing A Disservice To Service Dogs

, , , , , , | Working | September 29, 2017

(Ever since I was little, I have always shopped at this dollar club with my mom, but because I have very bad social anxiety, with ADHD and autism, I need to have my service dog with me or I can’t go by myself. I walk into the store with my therapy dog and start looking around for some things. I have a handful of items, and an employee comes up to me and speaks to me.)

Employee: “You need to pick up your dog; he isn’t allowed on the floor.”

Me: “Um… that doesn’t make sense. He’s a service dog?”

Employee: “It doesn’t matter; he can’t be on the ground! You need to pick him up. There’s even a sign outside.”

(At this point I’m starting to panic, because I really can’t stand arguing with strangers. I will do it to defend my rights, but not if I’m going to have a panic attack. Now other customers are beginning to stare. I decide to grab my service dog and pick him up. My dog is a Chihuahua-Dachshund mix and is about the size of a fox, around 14 pounds. I feel embarrassed about picking him up, and I am carrying other things aside from him that are somewhat heavy, and some that I would prefer not to get dog hair on, so I have to set the dog down. Out of frustration, I end up setting all my stuff down and walking out to the front of the store. I get mad when I read that the sign indeed says no pets allowed, but that it also says service animals are welcome, and says nothing about needing to carry a service dog around while in the store. Now irritated, I decide to walk right back in, grab the stuff I had left in a basket and continue shopping. I am approached by the employee again, and immediately, defensively, I say that there is a sign in the front of the store, which she demands to see.)

Me: “See? It says, ‘No pets allowed; service animals are welcome.’”

Employee: “It doesn’t mean you can leave your dog on the ground. It could bite someone. The manager made the rule; why not just put your dog in a cart?”

Me: “He is a service dog. He can’t bite; he’s not supposed to. Do you need proof of that? Actually, let me speak to your manager, because dogs aren’t allowed in carts for allergy and hygiene reasons!”

Employee: “Ugh, what a stubborn child; do what you want. The manager isn’t in right now.”

(I was extremely distressed at this point, about to cry, and I couldn’t help but think how un-freaking-believable this lady was being with me. I could hear some people who were staring, talking about how I was being a spoiled brat about my dog not being allowed inside the store, or how I was self-entitled. I was emotionally exhausted, I felt embarrassed, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to go home. I bought my stuff and walked out. On my way home, though, I called the store and spoke to the manager about what happened. He offered his apologies, but that still doesn’t make up for all the embarrassment I suffered at that store.)

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