| Rants are good for the soul. | |||||||||
| Tripp | |||||||||
| Tripp is my puppy, which should be obvious if you know me. I love him, don't get me wrong. Sometimes, I just want to kill him though. To vent my anger, I decided to make a rant in his honor. Tripp is like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One second, he's all calm and sweet. He'll look at you with his big ole eyes and if you reach down towards him, he'll roll on his back and puff out is chest at you so you'll scratch his stomach. Then he'll come over to your feet, lick your toes, and lay down. In a blink of the eye, he gets into this frenzy, biting, wolf mode. You casually walk in the kitchen and this furry monster flies around the corner and plows his head into your knee. All you can see is the floor while falling over and feel this creature knawing at your pants. When you regain your composer, he's gone and there's a chunk of your pants that disappeared with him. Then if he ISN'T biting you, which is a miracle. You see him from the back and his head is hidden. You get curious as to what he's doing and you see it. He's biting on your panties that you left on the bathroom floor. Next to those is a half-eaten flip-flop and the remaining pieces to your tv remote. You yell "NO BAD BOY" and he's off like lightning. You start chasing him and he looks behind him while running with panties in his mouth with this giggling glint in his eyes. He makes sure that you're chasing him. Then when you get out of breath or just give up, he runs over to you and drops the panties on your feet to taunt you. You glare at him and reach down to pick them up and he's off again with the panties. Then there's the couch situation. He learned how to jump on and off the couch when he was puppy, when it was CUTE. Now it's a big pain in the ass. I sit on the couch drinking my soda and I hear this galloping sound coming from outside, to the kitchen, and finally to the living room. In a panic, I reach to the table to put my soda down, but it's too late, he flies head first right into my gut. The soda gets shot from my hand, to the couch, to the floor, where Tripp jumps down to lick up his kill. I get up in rage and yell "NO, STOP IT BOY!" then he bites my foot and makes me lose my balance. I fall to the floor and he casually walks over to me licks my nose and rolls on his back for me to pet his belly with his tongue hanging out. |
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