My roommate’s dog Shithead came running into the living room, hid his toy somewhere, and ran to my mother trying to get her to play hide-and-seek with it. She knelt down, distracted by digging around for the toy. Shithead jumped up beside her on the couch, and snatched her cigarette out of her hand.
My mom yelled, “Look at this!” and grabbed ahold of his head to stop him from running off with it. Sure enough, Shithead had her lit cigarette sticking out of his mouth, like it was supposed to be there! Mom quickly snatched the cigarette back and we cracked up laughing. I wish I’d thought to get a picture while it was happening. Hah!
Girl, you crack me up! First there’s that “Penis of Power” thing, now a dog named Shithead. I do declare, if I was a mere 40 years younger I’d have to come callin’ on you.
Now, tell me: Did your mom travel to far distant lands to visit, or have you returned home from your quest to find fame, fortune, and the deeper meanings of life?
Okay, so the dog’s “official” name is Patches, but we only call him that in front of small children. All the rest of the time he’s Shithead. And he is a shithead. I have a sneaking suspicion he is the demon Azazel in canine form.
When I lived on a farm, we had a pet duck named John Deere (after the tractor) but we changed it to J.D. when we discovered he was in fact a she. Anyway, J.D. was carnivorous. Her favorite food was fried chicken. We had a lot of good clean family fun giving her bites of chicken while cackling madly, “Yer eatin’ yer cousin! Hahahahah!”
Yeah, but I bet your cat can’t play the recorder. Mine can.
(Actually, she had knocked it off the table and commenced to wrestling it into submission when she inadvertantly breathed across the blowhole. When it whistled, she took off like a shot.)
Does it count if I have a hedgehog named Mr. Bitch? (He’s called Mr. Cranky Pants when impressionable minds are around)
The name came up when he took a piece out of my finger when we were in the ‘getting acquainted with each other’ stage. Hedgies have peg teeth, so normally it wouldn’t have done much except give me a terrific pinch, but I reflexively yanked. :smack:
Long ago, I knew an Irish Setter named Thor. He would eagerly follow an illegal cigarette around the room, so that people would blow smoke in his face. He was a shithead, but it was some gooood shit, man!
HAHAHAHAHAHA! I have a similar story. Last year, I was downstate at my aunt’s house with my daughter. My daughter had bought a plastic recorder sometime on the trip, and it was lying on the couch. My aunt’s cat, Tipper, came up to it and sniffed it right at the blow hole. It whistled quietly, and the cat jumped a good four feet into the air before disappearing under the couch.
John Carter: just realized I missed your question. Yes, I’m back in Mississippi now, I graduated Americorps in November. Hopefully I’ll be out of here soon, though, this place is killing me.
A belated welcome home then. Tell your mom to feed you good. Before you take off again be sure to fill up on fat-back, collards, biscuits and tomato gravy. We can’t have you roaming the world if your strength isn’t up!
