Random Esquire

Boss and I both have soft places in our heart for rotten things. In her case, that rotten thing is me. In my case, I must reluctantly admit that it is Little Filthy. Never has this been more apparent than in the case of Little Filthy’s bed.

The story begins at Sam’s Club where Boss and I were exercising our compulsion to purchase in bulk. As it doesn’t make a lot of sense to purchase dog beds in bulk, Sam’s Club simply sells a very large square dog bed that could accommodate many dogs. That is, in case you buy your dogs in bulk. Anytime a dog bed is described in square-feet should be an indication that it is too large. Our over-zealous desire to provide combined with our inability to turn down anything reasonably priced resulted in one of these monstrosities in our living room. Little Filthy loved it. Oh, he loved it. He did not just lay on the bed. He would run and leap on the bed. I was proud.

He did not sleep on this bed. His sleeping area had a slightly smaller version. A summer home to his mansion in the living room, if you will. This, too, he loved. Unfortunately, both beds were simply too large and one, in particular, obstructed the washing machine, prompting the laundry elves to threaten to strike out of frustration of moving it constantly. Boss, exercising her judgment, oversaw the purchase of a very reasonable, compact, round bed, complete with bordered edge. His summer home was relocated to the living room and his large bed was donated to a family on a farm with a lot of space to run around and where it got the attention it deserved.

Oh, how he hated this new bed. The first night, I placed him in the bed and tucked him in before crawling into bed, myself. He crawled out and stood at the foot of our bed and looked at us. He was protesting. I ignored it and went to sleep. When I woke up, he was still standing there. I told Boss, “He hates the new bed.” She said, “He needs time to get used to it.” The next night, while Boss slept, I lay in bed listening to the sound of Little Filthy as he stared up at us and made sobbing noises in the back of his throat. I couldn’t take it. It was like the tell-tale heart steadily beating, I want my big boy bed, I want my big boy bed.  I cracked. I got his other bed and he happily flopped down and went to sleep. I beamed.

And now, each day and night, I move his remaining big bed from one room to the next and his small bed goes unused. That rotten monster just kills me.

1. Why hasn’t SNL done a spoof of Rachel Ray yet? She is making something now called “Sunday Gravy Macaroni.” I am speechless.

2. Recently, I have noticed that the Food Network makes a point of showing the cooks washing their hands after handling meat. This is new. The Food Network equivalent of porn stars wearing condoms. Safe cooking.

3. Boss is currently out of town. Thus, Little Filthy and I spent a fair amount of time looking at each other with nothing to say. I did read him summaries of 7th Circuit opinions. He fell asleep. We are considering popcorn for dinner. And steak.

4. Christmas was here. There’s a full set of All-Clad pots and pans hanging in the kitchen. I may have to dirty a few of those in the name of dinner.

5. Recent events have me thinking about my relationship with Boss and our life together. We are living a charmed life and I am grateful for it. She came into my life and brought with her the answers to a lifetime of private whisperings I believed would never be realized. Never has life been so exquisite.

1. Little Filthy visited his grandmother this weekend. He paid tribute to the new Oriental rug under the dining room table. In fact, he paid two tributes to her Oriental rug, the last of which my pregnant sister stepped in. He’s delightful.

2. I looked through my sister’s list of boy names. I noted: Winthrop and Quincy. I said, “What do you think of Oliver?” She said, “I like it. How did you know?” I said, “Because I see you’re only picking names that will get your children beat up.”

3. Someone posted on the pug_pics journal and requested an animal-safe way to get rid of ants. I wanted to reply, “Don’t be filthy.” Now, I know that is inappropriate but it’s just the kind of inappropriate response that makes me grin. Perhaps something is wrong with me.

4. Boss fell in love with a three carat diamond ring this past weekend. I might suggest simply strapping a car to her finger.