I have a very cute dog and a very poor camera

Well, strictly speaking the camera is more of a phone than a camera... and the dog is better than cute. He's awesome!



There was an elderly woman at the Walmart parking lot giving away puppies on or about February 20th, 2010. She had one more left when my then-girlfriend (now ex-girlfriend) and I went there to get groceries. I never, ever stop to talk to these kinds of people. But Aimee and I had just had a big argument and she was trying to break the ice and asked if I wanted to see the puppies. And I presumed that was because she was actually interested, so I said yes. I found out later that day it was because she thought I was interested, not the other way around.

So we parked close by and got out and looked. There was a little black dog with a wide face that made him look very Pit-ish. He was absolutely adorable but very small. She said he was the "runt" and he was the last one. And that if I took him home, he'd be a "friend for life". I suppose I fell in love with that dog. I remember saying "We can't leave him" and then we took him home. But I somehow felt like I was still being the rational one and Aimee was the one who was more interested in the dogs than me. Stupid me, she already had a dog, and I was the one whose cat just ran away. Poor Parker. I still maintain that her damn cat, Fraidy, killed him. Parker was the best cat I've ever seen, but he's still just a cat, which means NO loyalty, NO predictability, and NO genuine affection. And here enters this old lady, about to set me on the path to dog-loving right now.

I have in the past felt like SHAMING this woman for giving away dogs without asking for even the slightest fee to deter animal cruelty to poor, defenseless puppies. But maybe she was actually wiser than I gave her credit for, and she was able to detect that I would take care of the dog and love him. If that is what she detected, she was right. And if that is the case (although I find it doubtful), I must give her tremendous credit for judging the character of those people to whom she was giving away the dogs. If it is not the case, I must still give praise nevertheless for her enabling me to have this great dog in my life.

Raising him as a tiny puppy was hard. He was less than a month old with not enough teeth to eat solid food. As a puppy, he obviously wasn't housetrained yet, and peed and pooped almost every hour. He whined like a banshee all night long when we put him to bed in the bathroom; he was just too small to sleep with us, and we couldn't risk him making a mess unless he was in an area that we puppy-padded. I am very disappointed that I have no pictures of him from this age. I have seen cute puppies, but I've never seen one that looked so helpless and adorable as he did. God, it made my heart melt.

Bud loyally waits in his kennel when I am away at work, and he plays joyfully when I return. I do my best to give him as much exercise as possible, but with school and two jobs I am so tired it rarely is enough. Still he makes do with everything I give him. He has never been the brightest dog, but he obediently reacts to the most important commands: down, leave it, go outside, go to your room, and (extreme cases, he reacts instantly) DROP IT. And he knows when I'm about to give him either a "treat" or a "bone" depending on which word I use. He still hasn't figured out how to "lay" or "roll over" or anything more advanced, but frankly I'm not using his tricks as a way to pull chicks (I've got a great one already!), so I couldn't care less. He destroys toys VERY quickly, so only a few survivors make it: only the sturdiest rope bones and rubber Kong toys make it for more than a few weeks. Anything that has stuffing and/or a squeaker inside, he will find a way to tear it apart within 24 hours if left unsupervised. Tennis balls, even if made of diamond, are toast inside of an hour. Guaranteed. If there was a squeaker inside a toy woven with kevlar and asbestos, he would still find a way to gnaw the seams away and get inside. A frisbee, admittedly, will last forever, but only because my poor Buddy is too simple to figure out how to catch it or to pick it up when it hits the ground. He tries to put a paw on it, but that keeps him from picking it up with his teeth. Net result: he ignores Frisbees, they're just a waste of time to him.

Buddy provides me with as much affection as a dog could possibly deliver. He is playful but never loses his discipline. He will follow my demeanor and console me if I'm sad. He will detect my energy and respond with his own outbursts. He knows when I'm just not feeling right, and those are the times when he unceasingly lays across my feet or licks my face. He was bad with accidents as a puppy (probably because I was very dense about how long his bladder could last), but now he is so obvious when he needs to go outside that even a dullbit like me can figure it out.

In return all he asks for is a bowl of Beneful twice a day, and water three times a day (or two if I'm going to be gone all day, sorry Buddy). He first drank formula from a bottle, then a bowl, and then he moved onto Moist n Meaty before he settled into dry dog food. He had some choices at first, but I felt better giving him the name-brand expensive stuff, and among all the dog foods I tried, the one he consistently ate with the most enthusiasm was Beneful. So that's what he gets to eat all the time, varying the flavors between each big bag. I have never been compelled to skimp even the slightest bit on dog food; he deserves every dollar I spend and then some. He might go through one $30 bag of Beneful every six weeks, while his fat-ass master might spend $200 on food in a month. He gets exercise every night, but most of that consists of him running around in huge figure-8s in the yard while I lazily cheer him on. He tuckers himself out so that I don't have to do it to myself. What an amazing dog.

He also has a beautiful, smooth coat (it has been complimented by everyone who has ever seen him) and very little "dog odor". In fact, he is generally so clean that I rarely have any objections to him sleeping in my bed with me, underneath my covers. He also somehow stopped growing at exactly the right size: 50 lb. Any heavier and he would be very formidable with his strong muscles. But I don't want him smaller; he's a man's dog, not a toy poodle. With his strength I believe he could certainly hold his own against other dogs, but I have conditioned him so strongly against violence that he simply will not fight with other dogs. He gets scared and confused when they try to tackle him and claw at him. I guess this makes him a sissy (he has also been neutered, which probably helped) but the function of a dog is not to be a good fighter, especially when he's a Pit Bull mix and forced euthanasia is available in 20 minutes after a phone call to the police from a nosy neighbor. He is built for survival in the human world, not the dog world. That's why he has no testicles and isn't allowed to play with dogs his age (older, slow dogs are fine).

He is loyal to his master(s), and when the lights go out, any whiff of an intruder will awaken his doggy senses, and he reacts appropriately with a growl or bark. The alertness of my dog has enabled me to sleep soundly, confident that anyone who tried to take life or property from me, would be revealed before his access was complete.

What more can I say? I love my dog.