I know that popular culture would have me believe that dogs are mankind’s best friends. Due to recent personal experience, however, I am having difficulty accepting this notion. I had an 8 PM softball game last night, and just as I was about to leave the house, I picked up my backpack only to find it soaked with dog urine.
I have other backpacks, but none of them are in the “throw them around and get them filthy” phase of their existences. Only my North Face pack is. I have abused it as a school bag, a softball bag, a beach bag, and now a urine depository.
Lynnette was already downstairs in the Highlander waiting to switch cars so I had to act quickly. I opened our huge Tupperware bin of recyclable bags and this one featuring frogs wearing freaking glasses was the deepest and therefore best suited to my needs. I walked down to the garage with the bag and held it up for Lynnette to see. She started cracking up behind the windshield. Obviously, this is not a man’s bag. Madison was seated in the front seat with Abby propped up in front her. Since Mad’s view was obstructed in this way, I took the time to mouth an obscenity at Abby. I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE GOING TO MISS ME AND DON’T WANT ME TO GO TO THE GAME, ABBY! YOU DON’T PISS IN SOMEONE’S BACKPACK!
When I got home Abby was noticeably more reserved than usual. “Go say sorry to daddy,” Lynnette said with a smirk. Abby popped up in the bed. “Don’t come over here,” I said. She sat back down. I got into the shower, got dressed, then got into bed to watch Raw. A few minutes into my viewing, I shifted my body and rubbed up against Abby’s jacket. I looked over. She had silently come to cuddle up next to me. “She’s saying ‘sorry dads,'” Lynnette said, again with a smirk, but also in the voice both she and I use whenever we voice Abby’s thoughts. The voice is even more high-pitched and nasal than the one I use to imitate Lynnette.
It really was pathetic. I tapped Abby on the shoulder and she turned her head to look at me. “Bad dog,” I said. She dropped her head dramatically back to the bed. C’mon. I’m easy, but I’m not Matty.
Lynnette washed my beloved backpack last night and I found it drying upside down in the shower this morning. It did nothing to deserve getting peed on. When I arrived at the field last night, Matty saw me approaching and said “nice bag” in his usual unenthused monotone. I told him what happened and concluded the anecdote with “Why would she do that?” “Spite,” Matty said.
He’s probably right, but I don’t understand why Abby would spite me. I feed her. I give her scratches. I play with game with her where I shuffle side-to-side at the edge of the bed so she has to run shuttles to high-five me every time I stop at a corner.
Last night as I was scolding Abby as she cuddled next to me, Lynnette tried to mitigate my anger. “Look, she’s trying to show you love,” she said. “Would you like me to show you my love by walking into your closet and taking a leak all over your bags?” I asked. “No,” she said. I turned and met Abby’s eyes. “Exactly,” I said. She looked away.