Bad Dog

I’ve never claimed to be a dog lover – I’m really much more of a cat person. But a couple years ago my parents got an adorable Miniature Pinscher named Roxy. Maybe it’s because she is a small dog, or maybe it’s the simple fact that she seems to like me, but I actually found myself adoring little Roxy. I look forward to playing and cuddling with her when I visit my parents.

However, after this weekend, I’ve decided that the dog is evil. My parents haven’t necessarily given Roxy much training, and she’s super spoiled. She goes in and out of the house through a doggie door to the back yard as she pleases, and spends a lot of her time sleeping by the fireplace or in people’s laps.

She is also an escape artist. Roxy has absolutely no idea how good she has it at my parent’s house, and bolts out the front door every chance she gets. My parents have had to resort to putting electrified mats in front of the door that shock Roxy when she steps on them. But the mats sometimes get moved (when company comes over, etc.) and then they have to be super careful to hold the dog by the collar whenever the door is open.

Many, many times when I have visited my parents, Roxy has somehow escaped. Normally, when a dog gets loose it might run for a minute, but then you call it and it comes back. Right? I thought that was the whole point of dogs. They’re supposed to be smarter than cats because they are loyal and they obey their owners, correct? Not Roxy. When she escapes, she bolts like lighting down the street as fast and as far as she can. When you call her name, she runs faster… in the other direction. I’ve never seen anything like it. It takes hours of walking/driving around the neighborhood calling her name and waving treats to catch her.

This weekend, I went down to my parent’s house for Easter. Sunday morning, we all got ready to go over to my grandma’s house. Since we were taking separate cars, Stewart and I were the last to leave. I thought Roxy was in the backyard, and stupidly opened the front door to leave. The electrified mats were not in place. Suddenly, a streak of brown and black shot by my leg and Roxy was gone. You’ve got to be kidding me!

It was absolutely POURING down rain. I had just spent an hour getting ready and was wearing suede boots. My parents were long gone. And we had to catch the dog before leaving because my mom thinks Roxy is a human child and would freak out if we just left her, loose. Ironically, we caught her within 10 minutes right outside the cul-de-sac. Roxy jumped in the car door right into my lap for a waiting slice of bacon. She was soaking wet. And covered in poop, which she had apparently rolled in. I was practically in tears while Stewart sat and laughed at me. Not funny, dude.

Back at the house, I locked the evil dog in the backyard in the cold, pouring rain. I figured she deserved it. Then I marched upstairs to dry myself off and clean up. A little while later, as I picked up my bag to finally head out, I saw something out of the corner of my eye… something brown and black, which streaked across the front yard. No. NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! That’s right, doggie lovers. Roxy had escaped the backyard through the side gate. I wanted to cry.

We called Roxy’s name again and again, but she looked back at us, turned, and ran as fast as she could around the corner and out of sight. I was so furious I think smoke came out my ears. Stewart and I drove aimlessly through the neighborhood for a while, but there was no sign of her. Eventually, we just gave up and went back to the house to wait. As we neared the driveway, Stew slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting… Roxy. She jumped into the car again, happy as a clam to see us. I wrapped her in a towel and tried not to gag at the overwhelming smell of feces. Happy Easter, Sarah.

I do not like dogs. Officially.