First, let me be clear. I love my puppy, Monkey. He is everything I want in a dog: loyal, loving, friendly, gentle, playful, eager, and happy. And not only does he have a great personality, just looking at his sweet face melts my heart and turns me into a girl whose preferred method of communication is baby talk.
I know. The face of an angel, right? Except, ohmygod, sometimes that dog drives me absolutely bananas. Which I guess is fitting, since I named him Monkey. And though I feel bad pointing out the things he does that are super annoying — wait, actually, I can think of nothing I like more than to vent about the things he does that are super annoying. Starting with:
I have neighbors who had to turn their closet into a bedroom for their toddler, but meanwhile, Monkey gets an entire room to himself. It was once the dining room, then the guest room/office, but now, it’s Monkey Town — his personal space where he has his crate, his bed, his water, and his toys.
But despite the fact that Monkey Town is bigger than my first apartment in Manhattan, Monkey whines and cries and rattles the baby gate until I let him out. Sometimes he does this at 2 a.m. And when he’s finally free from Monkey Jail, what does he do? He walks two feet away, plops down on the floor, and immediately falls asleep.
I’m not talking like a cute little snore that makes you giggle because it’s so adorable. Monkey sounds like Fred Flintstone with a really bad cold. He snarfs, he snorts, he whistles, he wheezes. Any snoring noise that’s ever been made by a cartoon history character: Monkey has emulated it. Only louder. And more vehemently.
Apparently dog food tastes better when eaten off the floor. And don’t get me started on the fact that if he knows we have to go somewhere, instead of devouring his food like a normal dog, he goes on a hunger strike.
When Monkey drinks water, only about half of it actually makes it into his mouth. The other half slides down his jowls and onto his chin and neck. This is his absolute favorite time to come up to me and rest his head on my thigh. If my thigh isn’t available, he happily settles for the couch, giving brand-new meaning to the phrase “wet spot.”
When I need to see out the rearview window, you can be sure that Monkey is also looking out of it, completely blocking my view. And if the drive is longer than a few minutes, he needs to either stand with his cheek right next to mine so he can see where we’re going or, if he gets sleepy, fall asleep with his head on my shoulder. All 30-plus pounds of it.
Metaphorically and literally. I’m definitely convinced Monkey knows he’s cute. There’s something about his pretty little prance that screams, “Love me. You know you want to.” But I can live with that. What’s bothersome about the size of his head is, well, the actual size of his head.
During an intense cuddle session, he actually — unintentionally, of course — head-butted me so hard that I burst into involuntary tears. I mean, it was so forceful that I were an NFL player, I would have been pulled out of the game to check for a concussion. Monkey did lick my tears up, though, so I have to give him that.
Try getting dressed in the morning with a 115-pound puppy following your every move. Monkey sleeps right by the shower while I’m in it and even occasionally pushes the curtain back to stick his head in and make sure I’m still there.
When I’m in a huge rush, he walks with me to the closet, then back to the bathroom, then back to the closet, then back to the bathroom, every time making sure he’s directly in front of me so that I almost trip over him and break my neck. And I can only vaguely remember sitting on the toilet in peace. Now it’s all sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff until his nose is basically in my butt crack.
And if that perfect place is in the middle of the intersection while traffic backs up, so be it.
He doesn’t just stop traffic with his poop; he stops traffic because he’s the most adorable dog in all of the land (I’m slightly biased). Wherever we go, everyone wants to pet him and take pictures with him, and I’m just the lady they occasionally ask permission from. Don’t believe me? I dressed up in a bunny suit on Easter, but since I had Monkey with me, I might as well have been wearing a cloak of invisibility. I always pictured myself as somewhat of a star, but turns out I’m just lucky to have a supporting role.
I could probably keep going, but His Royal Highness just awoke from his afternoon nap and would like to go to the dog park RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW. And since I love the little bug more than anything on earth, obviously I am going to take him.
Do you have a lovable dog who secretly annoys you too? Make me feel less horrible by sharing your pup’s quirks in the comments!
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