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I realized as I was getting ready to write this that I haven't mentioned the new addition to the family who has a starring role in this little tragedy I'm about to tell. Therefore, an introduction is in order.
Making his LJ debut, across the internet, from his little home next to the toilet in the downstairs bathroom....heeeeeeere's....Jackson!
I promise, he's usually a happy dog,
but in every picture I took, he looks sad or very possessed;
though sometimes he acts like a devil dog.
Before it's asked, no, he's not named after this Jackson, but this badass. He's closing in on four months and he's a Labrador Retriever-Terrier-shh!-Rottweiler mix. He likes chewing, puppy treats, belly scratches, proving he can still fit in your lap even though he's over 20 pounds now, eating his food in under a minute, eating everything he can find because we absolutely, never-ever feed him (can't you tell he's starving?), running upstairs where he knows he can't go, running downstairs to the basement: also a no-puppy zone, and trying to get the not-dogs (read: cats) to play with him. He dislikes the word "no", the black not-dog that hisses and tries to claw his eye out when he just wants to say, "Hey, how's it going? I'm Jackson.", the grey-and-white not-dog that actively charges at him like a bull, his leash, other dogs, and rain.
Okay, now that's out of the way, we're back to the incident on Monday. ( A One-Act Tragedy in Puppy Theater )
Making his LJ debut, across the internet, from his little home next to the toilet in the downstairs bathroom....heeeeeeere's....Jackson!
I promise, he's usually a happy dog,
but in every picture I took, he looks sad or very possessed;
though sometimes he acts like a devil dog.
Before it's asked, no, he's not named after this Jackson, but this badass. He's closing in on four months and he's a Labrador Retriever-Terrier-shh!-Rottweiler mix. He likes chewing, puppy treats, belly scratches, proving he can still fit in your lap even though he's over 20 pounds now, eating his food in under a minute, eating everything he can find because we absolutely, never-ever feed him (can't you tell he's starving?), running upstairs where he knows he can't go, running downstairs to the basement: also a no-puppy zone, and trying to get the not-dogs (read: cats) to play with him. He dislikes the word "no", the black not-dog that hisses and tries to claw his eye out when he just wants to say, "Hey, how's it going? I'm Jackson.", the grey-and-white not-dog that actively charges at him like a bull, his leash, other dogs, and rain.
Okay, now that's out of the way, we're back to the incident on Monday. ( A One-Act Tragedy in Puppy Theater )
