Every Dog Gets His Day
I hope people appreciate how much I’m laughing but also how many horrible regrets I have over this situation. Let me start by saying it’s important to note that whenever I cook hotdogs, I slice the package, take out a few, roll the rest back up in the plastic packaging, and fasten it all with some good old-fashioned elastic bands. Today…I did not.
I couldn’t tell you why my dumb brain decided to just fold the plastic over a few times and place it back on the shelf, but here we are. So my spouse comes running down in their few minutes between endless meetings to make their lunch quickly. We are the only two in our house, plus our little rescue dog who was a stray and an absolute MOOCH.
I mean, this dog will weave between your feet, eyes GLUED to the floor, hoping for even a single speck of crumb because woe is him, he’s never been fed a day in his life. So we’re all in the kitchen, I hear the fridge open, and it suddenly dawns on me in horror that my spouse is MOST DEFINITELY going to go for those hotdogs I wrapped like an idiot.
I quickly turn around to say something, and in slow motion, my spouse wide-eyed stares at me as the hotdog package unrolls like a fruit-by-the-foot commercial and DOUSES my dog’s entire skull in too-much-to-be-reasonable-in-one-freaking-package of hotdog water. My dog lost his MIND. Like a Christian grandma with the second coming of Christ, my dog just tears across the entire apartment with the worst case of the zoomies I think we’ve ever seen him have.
He proceeds to spend the next 15 minutes singing our praises as the greatest humans alive as he rolls across every piece of furniture we own. I’m talking every. Piece. Of. Furniture. Now I don’t hate hotdogs but the smell is weirdly overpowering, and every time I sit down on something now all I can smell is godforsaken hotdogs. My dog loves it though.
And now I’m figuring out how to shampoo out hotdog water from my life. I have so many regrets.