So one day Juanito sends me a picture of this face:
|This sweet little face.....|
At first glance my heart melted and the theme song to Snoopy played in my head. I don’t know why. I emailed that I wanted him. It was the most definitive decision I’ve ever made. (which is kinda sad since I got married and bought a house, two major decisions that I apparently wasn’t as sure about as I was about a dog.)
Alfie is the name he came with. While we might not be over the moon about this name, I think it’s cruel to rename a dog after you adopt them so we never changed it. (No one gets to rename the kid they adopted out of the foster system do they? Really. Do they? Is that ok?) Needless to say he has received many nick names over the years: Alf, Alfredo, Alfarunie, Dingus One or Two, Alfie Baby and most notably Asshole.
You see Alfie lived a life on the lamb for his first year. He was a repeat offender of a nearby county animal control system. To quote City High he’s been “in and out of lock-down” but I’m not sure if his daddy’s been smoking rock now. I'm pretty sure he learned how to make a shiv (had to Google how to spell that which is totally suspect while at work) and how to lay low and get in good with the guards and all the other things you can learn by watching Locked Up on MSNBC. What I'm saying is that when we got him he had seen some stuff which left him with a rough, crusty exterior.
Can’t you tell?
|With my mind on my money and my money on my mind|
And while I don’t think he attacked our feet out of malice there have been a number of instances that earned him the name Asshole. There was the time he attacked Cass, well there were a couple of those times. There was the time he ran away and I chased him and he attacked me in front of the neighbor’s house and no one came outside to help me. That’s a warm memory. Or the one time I had him in a choke-hold and another time pinned against the kitchen cabinets both over food issues. Those were some lovely bruises I blamed Juanito on when questioned at work.
What I’m saying is he has earned those names. He might even need a little bit of therapy from his hard-knock life. And while I’m afraid to pick him up for fear of losing my face to him much like that lady who was attacked by her pet gorilla, I love him. He is an asshole. He is a grumpy old man. But he is warm, soft and totally cuddly (on his terms). I see my worse traits in him and he makes them soft and cuddly. He is the antonym of an anthropomorphic me. Just be careful, he’s grumpy, has teeth and more than likely a melted down tooth brush in his butt.
|Sweet Alfie Baby|