My Dog, The Shit

In 20377, Animals, Dog, Funny, Relationships, Social Commentary on April 29, 2008 at 1:47 am

Some of you will have heard me talk of my dog. You will have heard me describe him as anything from a sarcastic, grizzled ol’ nineteeth-century prospector to an embittered, sexually confused, drunken, middle-aged cougar.

I would like, if I may, to offer you an image of my darling dog: love of my life, and belligerent, contemptuous little shit. If you’ve had the privilege of getting to know this miraculously long-lived creature, you can vouch that the picture I shall paint is uncannily accurate.

Me and my dog, the shit.

After stumbling upon this video (, it occurred to me that my own dog’s reaction to the device featured might be marginally different.

The video essentially features an automatic fetch machine: it senses when a tennis ball is placed within, aims (some pre-determined angle I suppose), and then fires like a creepy robot catapult. The dog chases the ball, retrieves it, and puts it back in the machine; the process repeats.

Were my family to purchase such a machine, or make one, the process would probably go something like this:

Step One: Set up machine.
Fail because the dog has sat his fat arse directly on top of all those teeny-tiny screws, which have then become embedded in his fur only to fall out periodically over the next six weeks, so that you will find yourself treading on sharp bits of fur-covered metal and cursing loudly at 3am when you need to pee.

Step Two: Purchase replacement parts; again attempt to set up machine – process takes twice as long as it normally would because dog vomits on instructions, making them partially illegible, and sits his fat arse right in your way.

Step Three: Introduce dog to the machine.

Step Four: Clean up the urine and feces that now litter your floor because you tried to introduce a 17 year old dog to a creepy machine that makes more noise than the vacuum cleaner (his mortal enemy and one true weakness).

Step Five: Slowly, over a period of several months peppered by many more instances of only partially involuntary urination, acclimatize the dog to the machine.

Step Six: Put ball in machine. Machine shoots ball. Ball probably breaks something valuable because you mis-calibrated the machine.

Step Seven: Re-calibrate machine.
Put ball in machine. Machine shoots ball.

Dog looks at machine. Dog looks at you. Dog goes back to sleep.

Step Eight: Coat ball in some sort of meat odour. Waft ball in front of dog’s nose.
Put ball in machine. Machine shoots ball.

Dog watches ball; dog sneezes on your foot and goes back to sleep.

Step Nine: Bash the dog about the head with the now smelly, disgusting ball a bunch of times until he is really pissed off at it and tries to eat your hand.
Put ball in machine, which shoots the ball.

Dog chases ball, but loses interest halfway down the hall, and instead naps in a high-traffic area of the house.

Step Ten: After months of meat-stench and borderline dog abuse, you may have finally managed to convey to the dog what he is supposed to do with the ball/machine combination.
Now, put ball in machine; machine shoots ball.

Dog looks at you with absolute disdain and then lies down in the clean laundry you were folding.

Step Eleven: Spend hours repeating variations on Step Ten, during which time the dog has vomited, humped the machine, humped you, sneezed on your foot more times than you care to count, and urinated on pretty much everything in the vicinity, including – on several occasions – you.

Step Twelve: The day after you give up and put the machine away in a corner somewhere, dog finds the ball.
Dog puts the ball in the machine.
The machine shoots the ball, which now goes directly through your picture window because the machine has been moved.

Dog races outside, finds the ball, tears around the yard for twenty minutes with the ball, chews on it like it were a juicy T-bone steak, and then spends the rest of the day growling at anyone who comes near him and his precious ball.

Step Thirteen: Dog never touches either ball or machine again. Instead, he pees in the linen closet.

  1. […] the very definition of “insolent old arse” (for more on the douche baggery of my puppy, see here. He’s largely incontinent, although it is generally understood in my family that this is less […]

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