What a waste of a day. I’m beginning to realize how much I don’t like dog shows and all the obsessive compulsive behavior that comes with them. I drove 2 hours to Sacramento last night, stayed in a hotel, then got up at the ass-crack of dawn to get to the fairgrounds by 7am. I spent the morning showing Dee, she did okay, she’s a pretty dog and getting more and more confident every show she goes to. Fine. Neat. That’s great. But standing around for hours waiting for Dretti’s class I had nothing better to do than people watch, people listen and shake my head a whole lot.
Please, please for the love of gawd, if I EVER show up wearing a shirt with my dogs profile fashioned in RHINESTONES on the back with some stupid phrase indicating how much I Love My Rottweiler……fucking motherfucking shoot me. Someone, please just put a bullet in my head. Same thing if you see me wearing ANYTHING that indicates freaky obsession. Nobody, NOBODY needs to be sporting a shirt proclaiming that “on the weekends, my irish terrier and I go barhopping” No shit, I saw this today. Freaky Freaks. Nor does anyone need a custom t-shirt with their dog’s photo screen printed onto the front of it. No rhinestone baseball caps with paw prints glittering across the brim, no denim jacket bedazzled with toy poodles.
Don’t misunderstand, I love my dogs, really I do. I particularly like the breed of dogs I have for a multitude of reasons, but I am not obsessed with collecting everything that has to do with them. NOT. No way, no how. I think I have an antique hood ornament that is a sprinting greyhound (from a 1927 Ford Lincoln Town Car), and, um….a decal on the wing window of the bronco. THAT’S IT.
These people are whack-jobs.
How did Andretti do today? you ask???? Dretti? Well, my dog is a shithead. A complete bung-hole. He competed (and I use that term very loosely) in obedience today and only passed by 6 points. 70 is a passing score (out of 100) Andretti got 76. He routinely gets 97, 98, 99 scores and an adoring horde of spectators. Today he was a complete bastard; wouldn’t heel, took forever to sit, refused to do one entire exercise, flew off covorting after going over the jump, ignored half of my commands (as if, perhaps, they were mere suggestions that he could take or leave). Oh well, when it comes down to it, technically he DID do what I requested, and earned the final leg of his advanced title. He didn’t get the lowest score, and he didn’t get a non-qualify score (he got the SECOND lowest score) so I have officially declared him an Advanced Underachiever.
Anyone want a slightly used light brown greyhound with a smidge of an attitude?? I’ll let him go cheap, or trade for ?
I’m exhausted now. After the 2 hour drive home, I went out on the back porch where Art the Husband set up the chaise lounge with my favorite blanket and pillow and collapsed in the early evening sunshine while he rubbed my feet. Life is GOOD around here, lemme tell ya. Until Art’s girlfriend Paul showed up to watch the Detroit/Nashville game. Foot rubbing ceased and yelling at the tv began. Let me just state my opinion: The Predators DO NOT belong in the playoffs. They SUCK.
Now, I’ve made dinner for the two boys and I’m going to bed. With my big brown underacheiver in tow. I still love him. But seriously, make me an offer. My love is most def for sale.