The Dogs Of Wrath!

Well, when I cross my legs and offer restricted access. Behold the wonderment of the official Infidel canine, Reagan! This picture was difficult to snap as he kept lunging for me to engage in a little butt fume inhaling. Yes, Reagan would boldly go where no man has gone before. Well, not a lot of men, anyway. I'm not that kind of gal. He would leap tall buildings and jump in front of a moving locomotive just to catch him a pungent whiff or two. He's Reagan the crotch sniffing super dog!
Reagan is a 3 year old, 85 pound Chocolate Labrador. He brushed past me once while I was sitting on the floor with my mouth open. Sadly, he definitely doesn't taste like delightful chocolate flavor. Those lousy breeders and their crappy truth in advertising policies.

Reagan's long lost twin lives across the street. The exception is that their Labrador isn't allowed inside the house......ever. He barks from sunup til sundown. He barks until the cows come home. He's barked longer than there's been stars up in the heaven and fishes in the ocean. (I love Dan Fogelberg) He'll probably bark until Hell freezes over too. First time I made formal acquaintance with said neighbor dog, their chirpy 5 year old son told me that they named him "BARKY." Well, Barky does indeed seem an appropriate name for such a vociferously annoying creature. At least, there aren't any illusions to what a dog named Barky is going to be like. No, apparently I misheard the boy. The dog's name is actually "Sparky." Sparky? Could it be due to the fact that he "sparks" anger in all of the neighboring families who have to listen to their flippin dog every day? Maybe its apropos after all.

It got me thinking about my own dog. Now, Reagan is named after the great President, but his conduct is certainly unbecoming of such a namesake. You see, Reagan is addicted to butt. I know, if Robert Palmer were alive today, God rest his soul, he'd have to sing to Reagan, "Might as well face it, you're addicted to BUTT." My sister-in-law, Coco, was over on Sunday, and we all stood in the living room talking. Reagan thought it was some sort of heavenly crotch sniffing buffet that floated down on the angelic like maxi wings of old panties. He scuttled to and fro excitedly snuffling his snout into our delicate maidenhood. Coco must be more fragrant than me, because Reagan seemed particularly interested in her, and kept going back for seconds and thirds and fourths, and so on. One day, Reagan will protect and shield us from would be home invaders as he distracts them with his genital sniffing prowess. They'll drop their weapons in stunned amazement just to cover their privates from such an unwelcome intrusion. I already bought a tag, bowl, and Christmas stocking with his name on it. Were it not for the financial investment already involved, that dog would henceforth be known by the name of "Sniffy."

What if all of us were so named in accordance to our personality and behaviors? What would it be? Easily, I'd pass as a "Twinkie," or a "Plucky." I've got some major facial hair issues that require a lot of tweezing, okay? So, how bout you??!??!??