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Have you ever lived at a zoo? Well, if you have ever been to my house, you know what I am talking about. Ever since I was a little boy I have loved dogs; my sisters were both cat people. So as you can imagine, it was like living on a ranch in the middle of the suburbs.
My first dog was a Scottish Terrier named Laddie. He was such a great little guy, or at least he thought he was. Every day I would come home from school to find he had destroyed one more possession of mine. First, it was the ninja turtle, then the stuffed panda bear I had practically had my whole life. A new meaning was given to, I dont have my homework Miss; my dog ate it. She never believed me until it was time to turn in report cards, and mine was a slobber coated piece of a chew toy. (I think she got the point. ) The next dog that I owned was the complete opposite of mans best friend.
I wanted him because he was part coyote and part German Shepherd. He was by far the biggest and meanest looking dog on the block. There was only one problem: talk about a wuss. He ran from everything (even the neighbor Dachshund. ) He would only come to women. He might have been flamboyant, but he later proved that he was not gay, when we found him stuck to the lab down the street. Then there was Babies, my first pound puppy.
She was the cutest little thing until summer came about. Talk about a shedder. If I was not brushing her, I was selling her hair to wig companies. That dog could reproduce hair faster than I could remove it! I was forced to make her an outside dog. I believe she resented it, because any chance she got she would pee on the door to my room.
My current best friend is also a Scottie, his name is Dr. Peepers. His head is half the size of his body, and his legs extend an amazing three inches. He owns my heart and he knows it. But when I come home from school he begins to act up. Anything to get my attention, he will do.
I have come to the conclusion that he thinks he is a human. When I wake up in the morning he follows me into the bathroom and chews on his toothbrush while I brush my teeth. When there is a conversation going on, or when he wants something he growls and howls at me. It is his form of communication. He just does not realize that I am not a doctor, and my last name is not Dolittle.
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