Totally Not An Asshole

So about the whole dog thing.

Anyone who's spent a decent amount of time in my presence knows I'm not really a dog person. I don't go around kicking dogs or anything like that, I'm just not particularly fond of them. When I was really young we had outside dogs: German shepherds, a doberman and a collie mutt. My grandfather gave them awesome names like "Dude" and "Baby". But still. They were *outside* dogs and they ate my rabbits so it wasn't like I was head over heels or anything.

When I was a teenager my mom adopted a pit bull she found walking in the East Oakland hills. We named her Quinn, and she was an outside/inside dog mostly because dope fiends were always trying to break into our house. She was cool and tough and incredibly well behaved.

But since then I've lived with and around people who let their dogs act any old kind of way. Crotch sniffing asshole savages that would steal food and smelled really bad. I guess that sort of put me off them for a while.

But then I met Remi. And yes, he is as tiny as he looks in that photo of us. Maybe tinier. He fits in a hoodie pocket. He weighs about 3 pounds and most of that is ears and eyeballs. And I bet based on that you'd think he's a yappy little bastard, right? I mean. I would.

But trust. He's cooler than the other side of the pillow.

Some fuck abused him and he ended up in a shelter and was gonna be euthanized until this rescue that my aunt volunteers for swooped him up. She showed me a picture of him at Thanksgiving dinner and it was curtains. The next day I adopted him and we've been pretty much inseparable ever since.

He barely ever barks. And when he does it's this husky little miniaturized big dog bark. And when I tell him to shut the fuck up he does. He basically feeds off of my energy and does what I tell him to do without giving me the business. He even likes baths, so I put him in my kitchen sink once a week and he smells like mangoes 90% of the time.

I can take him almost anywhere. I put him in my purse the other day for a trip to the DMV and no one said a word. He just hung out in my handbag and watched people with me, silent than a motherfucker. I've only had one restaurant tell me I couldn't bring him in. And fuck that place, anyway.

He knew the basic commands when I got him. Sit. Stay. Wait. Come. That sort of thing. But I've taught him a few more:

- Don't be a punk.
- Don't be an asshole.
- Cool the fuck out.
- Stay the hell off my leather.
- Let's roll.

Plus: he loves me even when I'm at my jankiest and curls up into a tiny ball of quiet warmth whenever I ask him to. Sweet deal, right? As far as inside dogs are concerned, I could not ask for more.

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Other than that here are some CliffsNotes on my life until I come back again (sooner than later is what I say to myself about that):

- Life kinda rules.
- Work kinda sucks.
- Wardrobe is deluxe.
- Apartment is technicolor.
- Rolling dice is more than luck.
- Lemonade is still my favorite thing to drink.

I have to take this little monster on a walk now. Happy 2014 motherfuckers.