Monday, February 25, 2008

I Want My Money Back

I have yet to see the "born killer" that entered my house in the form of a pit bull/ Rottweiler mix.

From everything the media has told me, Jayne should have spontaneously turned into a rabid deliverer of death and dismemberment.

Instead I have a 7-month old puppy who climbs up in my lap, wakes the kids with kisses, and whines horribly whenever Mac does something as mean as growl at him.

He hasn't even killed one of the cats. What he does when he chases one of the cats and corners her is unspeakable. He holds the cat down and *gasp* GROOMS her.

Where is the obviously evil dog I was promised? Where is my vicious killer?

All I have is a 70lb lapdog who checks on the kids every morning, plays with Mac, and barks at the mailman.

Obviously I was scammed.


Seriously, Jayne has turned into the world's biggest, wussiest, least vicious lapdog. He's 70lbs and 29" from the center of the shoulders to the base of his tail (already 2" longer than Mac, and 3/4 the weight). He takes up half the bed when he's allowed up. If he could he would spend all day sleeping at Chris's feet, and all night curled up with the kids. He insists on checking on the kids at least once a day, dissolves into endless whining if Mac rebukes him, and gives me the sad "please pet me" eyes at least 10 times a day.

The only object he regularly and viciously sinks his teeth into is a stuffed duck dog toy.

Could it be possible that how a dog is raised counts for more than supposedly dangerous bloodlines? That nurture counts more than nature, that DNA isn't destiny?

Kind of throws the whole concept of identity politics out the window, doesn't it?