I love dogs, but this story is about a dog I don’t love. That dog was named Bum. Bum’s stupidity nearly ruined my happy outlook on life. Here’s how.
The warm sunshine smiled upon our family as our newest member smiled a sloppy grin. My dad informed us we were dog-sitting for one of his acquaintances just for the weekend. My father is simultaneously the most generous, most hilarious, and kindest man you might ever meet. Unfortunately, evil preys upon the kind ones.
Bum grinned and slobbered and acted like any dog might in an unfamiliar territory which is by peeing on every single plant in the house. In hindsight this was kindness from Bum, since later he would forgo the “I’m just visiting” politeness and pee wherever he was standing. I can’t prove that the dog magically turned dog food into vodka, but he acted that way. Also, he had the intellect of a potato. Perhaps a stupid potato. You know the brown, wrinkly french fries that are all crunchy and gross on the bottom? That’s Bum.
But could Bum ever run.
He ran and ran and ran, but he never stopped. I’m not sure if he could stop once he started. He was the Energizer Bunny’s mentally retarded cousin. The weekend Bum stayed with us went unsurprisingly slow. In his drunken, continuously urinating stupor, Bum quickly made enemies of the entire family. I tried to like him despite his lack of bodily function control. He had never been house trained. Somehow, we thought that we could fix that problem quickly. When he proceeded to make a gigantic dump in the living room, we brought him back to the large poop. The dog looked quizzically at us, wondering where it had come from, casually sniffing it as if to ask “you are right, this brown stink is fantastic, I should probably roll in it and then run around the house banging into walls, right?”
Bum also liked to eat.
Walls, carpet, plants, clothes, you name it, and he’d give it a try. What’s that you have there, Rob? Oh, a stack of CD’s, well, let your old buddy Bum eat ALL of them. I’m sure they taste as good going in as coming out.
However his primary problem was just running away. Bum never bit anyone. No. That would have been too easy, since then he would be dangerous and, well, you know, you’ve seen Old Yeller, right? I think my brother might have tried to get Bum to bite him, just to take one for the team to frame the dog.
Finally, after the weekend, my father took Bum back to his owners. His owners informed my dad that “oh, we don’t want Bum back, you can keep him.” I’m pretty sure this has to be illegal somehow. But, they used some Jedi mind trick on my dad and we ended up with Bum at our house. Now here’s where Bum started wearing off on me. His stupidity became contagious somehow, I cannot explain it.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and we had all just gotten back from church. Bum was in the garage, where he lived, since we could not let him outside due to his Forrest Gump-like inability to stop running once he started. So, in my church clothes, I decided to walk Bum around the garage. We had a big garage and for some reason, Bum seemed to finally get it. We ran in tight circles over and over and Bum worked right with me! He stayed right on his leash. I couldn’t believe it! This was a breakthrough. When I slowed, he slowed, when I stopped he stopped, when I ran, he ran. I slight tug on the leash and he stopped. It was simply amazing.
This is the part where I wish I could tell you I didn’t do something incredibly stupid.
Then I did something incredibly stupid.
Please remember at the time I was quite young, I’m guessing 9 (or 12, or 22). I might not have weighed more than the dog. But somehow, I felt confident, CONFIDENT I tell you, that we had finally built a rapport. My parents told us NOT to let out the dog since it bolted every time it was let out. But, I felt the connection. Bum and I finally had a link. I opened the door to the garage. The rest of the story is a haze due to the severe arse-whooping the dog proceeds to lay down on me.
After the first 200 yards of being dragged behind a freedom crazed dog through the woods behind our house, I realized that I might be in a little bit over my head. However, my arm was stuck in the leash, and Bum didn’t really mind the extra weight. I yelled for help but my family was inside. Insert another 1,000 yard of being dragged through mud, grass, dirt, leaves, trees, shrubs, briers, and every sort of backyard foliage once could find and I finally managed to get my arm out. Bum zipped off to the horizon, happily peeing and crapping as he went.
I dragged the remainder of my tattered, bloodied church-clothes still stuck to my broken body back to my house. My parents, thankfully, were concerned about my health. My brothers, as per my memory, had to leave the room so they would spontaneously explode from laughing so hard. We did manage to find Bum eventually. He was over a mile from the house, at the local Dairy Queen. Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t remember exactly what finally happened to Bum. I’ll just assume he’s in doggy heaven now, drooling over everything, running aimlessly in no particular direction, making yellow stains on poofy white clouds.
Please scroll all the way the very bottom of the page (very bottom) and click follow. I promise I won’t pee on your shoes (too much).