I will be honest and admit that I am probably part of the reason for Jody's need to self-medicate with Ketel One last night. You see, Minnesota winters are cold, and last week was really fucking cold. I am a little over 14 dog years old, which makes me about 108 in people years. If you ask a centenarian if he would voluntarily head outside in below zero weather to take a crap, I'm pretty sure his answer would be, "Go to hell, sonny." So, considering the fact that I've been good about defecating outdoors for over a decade, I think I'm entitled to a little cold weather leniency. Will I risk death by taking a dump on the kitchen floor instead of freezing my ass off? Definitely.
What I've discovered is that instead of the usual "Bad dog! Don't shit in the house! Ugh! Why did we get a dog?" routine that I tolerated as a puppy, she kind of feels sorry for me in my geriatric state. I still hear the usual "Why does the house smell like dog shit?" and "Oh Cosmo! That is really gross! You're a stupid dog!", but the whole incident seems to be wiped under the table in a matter of seconds, after the evidence has been flushed. Hmm...under the table. There's a spot I haven't visited yet.
Also, she stresses out about the fact that I have a tendency to throw up in the afternoons, but what does she expect? After dining on a little bit of frozen poop, licking myself whenever the desire hits, and eating random bits of food that happen to fall on the floor, excuse me if I happen to get a little nauseous in the afternoon!
I may act deaf, blind, and like I have no control of my bowels, but I'm not stupid. After 14 years, I have finally figured out that after I go outside around 10:00 at night, I get a treat. Should I go through the effort of going all the way down to the frozen grass, piss in the snow, and trudge all the way back up the deck steps just to get a stupid treat? I think not. I have figured out that if I just go halfway down the stairs, stand there for about 14 seconds, and then head back to the door, I still get the treat! Yeah, she's busted me a couple times and ends up standing at the door, waving her arm like a lunatic while yelling, "Go down the fucking steps, you moron," so then I just pee on the deck instead.
I guess I should get going. After a little ramen, a few Ritz crackers and a couple Advil, she seems to be moving around a little more. Besides, I have an itch I need to lick and the deck is just begging to be peed on.