Canis Rabidus

Let me tell you about my dog, Brodie. Brodie is a dog that my wife and I adopted approximately 9 years ago. My wife had already gotten “her dog” a year earlier. My wife’s dog’s name is Sam. Sam, to say the least, is a tad neurotic. I only mention this to illustrate my rationale for choosing my dog. When we went to the pet store for my dog, I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted a fat dog that was reluctant to exert any energy whatsoever. I felt this was the perfect complement to our spaz, Sam.

We got to the store, and I immediately saw Brodie. His presence grabbed my attention because for a minute, I thought he might actually be dead. As I saw him make every effort to complete the arduous task of completing a single breath, I knew that this was the dog for me. I immediately pointed to the comatose canine as if I was actually 5 years old, and looked at my wife, and said, “I want that one.” And so it was done. We drove home that day with my narcoleptic friend. Best that I can recall, I am pretty sure he pissed all over the car without even stirring from his slumber. This was the perfect dog for me.

Brodie, for as long as we have had him, has been known as the fat, lazy one. Sam - still the spaz. It is like ying and yang. But, like any other people (or animals) that live together, they began picking up each other’s habits. Mainly, Brodie began picking up Sam’s habits. This transition has been detrimental to my home and belongings. Apparently Sam has convinced Brodie that destroying things is socially acceptable, and - from what I can tell from his lack of remorse - fun. Sam has been known to destroy carpet, walls, and he has even eaten a basketball-sized hole in a mattress. All the while - I presume - Brodie has watched…and learned.

We have been in our current house for about 3 and a half years now. Brodie has ripped down the crawl space door, ripped off all of the insulation on the duct work, and separated said duct work. This, as you can imagine, resulted in thousands of dollars in repairs and energy bills. This cannot be my dog; mydog is fat and lazy, right? Brodie has recently developed a fear of storms as well. This was not always the case. I am convinced that Sam has been tormenting Brodie during storms to the point of instilling unwarranted anxiety inmy dog. This phobia of thunder and lightning has resulted in more home repairs…namely doors.

Ogden Nash said, “A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.” I am pretty sure Mr. Nash knew Brodie. Invariably, these horrifying storms take place when we are not at home. So, as these storms are taking place, Brodie attempts to find sanctuary in our guest bathroom downstairs. This is fine, except that he somehow closes the door behind him every time and panic ensues. This is a transcript of his thoughts on one fateful, stormy day…

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“What…what was that?

He turns around –

“Dammit! What do I do now? First, I am going to bark incessantly in the hopes that my friend Sam will decide to descend the stairs, grow opposable thumbs, and offer me assistance with my plight…yeah, that sounds good. Here it goes.”

10 minutes later…

“Nope, that didn’t do it. What is the next step? I know, I can try and fit under that small gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. That makes perfect sense. I think if…I…get…low enough, I can…”

7 minutes later…

“I thought for sure that would work. Hmmm. I guess I can wait here patiently for my loving owners to return home and open the door to restore my freedom. I know they love me and they will definitely do this for me. I am sure they will be here soon. It’s really not so bad in here. There is a nice cool floor, a small rug to lay on, an endless supply of water over there in that white bowl. I think I am good.”

17 seconds later…

“Get me out of this HELL! Why would they do this to me?! I started to drink out of the bowl, and I am pretty sure someone forgot to flush! I am also convinced that little boy pissed all over the floor and rug! I am not lying in that! I have better aim than that kid! I have got to get out of this urine-soaked tomb! Screw it! I am just going to have to eat the door!”

And that is what he did.

Brodie has, to this date, eaten 3 bathroom doors. We have thought of different ways to prevent this from happening, but somehow, someway, something happens and he ends up in the bathroom on a stormy day when we are not home. Canis Rabidus is Latin for Crazy Dog, and that crazy, door-eating dog ismy dog. Of course, there are people that say, “I’d get rid of that damn dog,” every time I tell them about our most recent adventure, but, in all actuality, he is now our dog, and we will never get rid of him.