Swede William’s Turn

If it has tires or testicles it is going to be trouble.

When dogs’ schedules are suddenly changed, strange behaviors can emerge. I recently returned to hospital nursing, which requires me to be away from my dogs for 13-hour stretches. Not that they were neglected — far from it! My sweet husband Bill is home with them, lets them out, walks them, feeds them and lets them curl up on his generous lap.

But one of the boys started peeing in the house. (There are five boys.) I made bellybands. Only one got wet. The one I least expected. My darling youngest boy, Swede William, the only one with his original “equipment.” William was imported from Sweden as a pup, and has NEVER been anything but good as the golden highlights in his coat.

Well, I blogged about his naughty transgressions and it is only fair to publish his reply.

Swede William’s Turn:

I am an honorable dog who loves the life, ja? You ask anyone, I love all. I don’t even bark at doggy visitors outside our fence, like the rest of the hootenannies in this house, no. Besides, I am the best show dog ever, see this?

Oh the handsomeness of me. See the Judge? He is saying, “Never have I seen such an excellent example of whippet perfection!” And the servant. Just look at her beaming with happiness and pride and big belly bursting. Ja. Swede William you’re so wonderful. I hear that all the time from the wacko.

Now, recently our servant has got some kind of lostheimer’s disease. She does not wait for me to gently wake her up with my lovely songs to make us breakfast. No. Now the dumma feta kossa gets up before light and leaves us. Day after day. And then she can’t find her way back to us until long after dark. We worry!

So, being a thoughtful dog I try to help. I mark my glorious essence all over the house so she can smell her way home. Does she say Oh Swede William I thank you for your generous sacrifice of your precious bodily fluid for my safety and well-being? Does she say that? NO! She put a horrible strap around my winky!

I did my best — even with the strap around my marvelousness — to help her. I marked upstairs and down, soaking the torturous madness fastened around my spectacular bits.

When she got home, she showed me where my helpful fluids were decoratively sprinkled. And then she flipped out. She went all hissy cat on me! She told me it was unacceptable. That I knew better, dammit. That this has to stop.

I have one thing I would like to say to the servant.

I don’t know how to say it in English, but in Swedish it is phhhfffftttt!! And there is wetness involved.

Oh I won’t because I am a good dog. But how do I let my servant know that her being lost is unacceptable. That she knows better, dammit. That this has to stop.

What’s a dog to do?

Hump your humans, especially the lostheimers ones.

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