By Heidi Shertok
How to Greet Friends
When it comes to meeting new friends, my dog heads straight for the crotch. The crotch is the place to sniff for gaining key intelligence, such as age, gender, and time and date of one’s last period.
Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying I adopted this method of greeting, but I will say this: niceties are a bore. When I meet new people, I ask questions that are a lot more revealing than the average person. How did you lose your virginity? Where do you swing on the political spectrum? On a scale of 1-10, how do you rate your love life? It’s all about the crotch, people.
It’s Okay to Be Incontinent
There’s so much pressure nowadays to excel in sports, careers, marriages, etc. that maintaining one’s continence could just about tip someone over the edge. Luckily, my dog doesn’t get bent out of shape about where he pees. If it’s too cold outside or too late at night, he won’t trouble himself to go outside; any nice, clean carpeted area is good enough for him.
Personally, I look forward to buying Depends in bulk when I’m of geriatric age. If I’m still around at ninety, then I’ve earned my right to wear those motherfuckers.
Hate Everyone Equally
My dog doesn’t give a damn whether you’re a mutt from the pound or a thoroughbred with a champion bloodline – he will kick your ass regardless. His hate is equal, and that’s a beautiful thing.
When people steal my parking spot or bud ahead of me in line at the grocery store, I see red. The anger is so intense that I can’t tell if someone is black, white, Buddhist or Mormon; all I see is a haze of red, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to hurl a sharp object at their head.
Keep The Line of Communication Open
My dog can barely walk two feet without marking something. Some might say he’s insecure and needs to lay claim to everything in the neighborhood to make up for his diminutive size, but I think it’s just his way of communicating to other dogs – probably about how much he hates them. It’s always good to let people know how you feel.
When people honk at me for my poor driving skills, I always give them the finger. If my sister tells me my outfit doesn’t match, I tell her to go to hell. Should my husband try limiting my dessert intake, I slap him. Where there is clarity, there is sure to be peace.
Be True to Yourself
My dog is a seven pound alpha male that has the killer instincts of a Doberman, the intimidation factor of a Chihuahua, and the anger management skills of O.J. Simpson. When he senses danger – which is fairly often – there is no hesitation on his part to launch an attack. Whether it be an exuberant puppy that doesn’t take no for an answer or a one hundred and fifty pound Great Dane that doesn’t understand the concept of personal space, my dog will take on the challenge with aplomb. He revels in his neurotic personality, never wishing for a moment that he was an easy-go-lucky Golden Retriever type.
I am a five foot, one hundred and twelve pound beta female whose killing instincts fluctuate depending on the time of month, the intimidation factor of Betty White, and anger management skills similar to those of former Governor Jesse Venture. I appreciate my hormonally-charged mood swings and never wish to be a nice, lovely, chemically balanced person like…say, my mother.
Stupidity Can’t Be Faked
In the movie, Legally Blonde, Reese Witherspoon’s character is smart, but comes off dumb. My dog is the opposite. There are moments when he’ll pretend to be brilliant – i.e., if bologna is involved – but most of the time he’s so dumb that it’s a miracle he remembers to breathe.
When it comes to math, science, history, geography, statistics, or anything else that requires strenuous brain activity – or is boring enough to induce a coma – my mind paints a fuzzy gray and black picture, like an old-fashioned T.V. screen with no functioning channels. Trust me, darlings, this level of stupidity cannot be faked.
Love Your Body
It takes a real macho guy like my dog to prance around town, openly displaying his goods to nice, unsuspecting people. He loves his compact body and never wishes for a moment that his thighs were skinnier or his tail a tad fluffier.
I take pride in my body, and if it weren’t for the pesky fact that public nudity is illegal, my stretch marks and cellulite would be proudly showcased everywhere I went. Nudity laws are so passe.
Hygiene Is Overrated
If fecal eating were an Olympic sport, my dog would bring home the gold. On any given day, he’ll consume vast quantities of rabbit and squirrel poop, then come inside and lick his private parts for the next few hours.
Now, I can’t say that I’ve tried eating poop directly, but I do eat dead animals that when they were alive, ate poop. As for licking my privates…I would if I could, but doggonit, I’m not flexible enough to reach them.
MSG Crap Is a Must
Foods that are labeled as holistic and pure are guaranteed vomit-inducers. If MSG isn’t listed as an active ingredient, then my dog wants nothing to do with it.
For my own diet, I eat highly-processed foods that are laden with high-fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oil, sodium nitrite, and of course, MSG. My doctor isn’t impressed, but you can’t please everyone, so you might as well please yourself.
Hide From Children
My dog loves children, but only from a safe distance, like through a T.V. screen or by sniffing a child’s abandoned coat. Over-zealous dog lovers that stand shorter than three feet tall are my dog’s worst nightmare. At the sight of a stroller coming up our walkway, he’ll dash to my bedroom and burrow under the covers in my bed, seeking refuge at the cost of little to no oxygen.
There is great wisdom in hiding from children, whether they be your own or someone else’s. Not only do you get a break from the little monsters, but they also learn to figure things out for themselves, like how to get their own damn snacks. If the T.V. isn’t working and Mom can’t be found, they simply play with their overpriced, highly neglected toys. It’s a total win/win situation.
*****
About the Author
HEIDI SHERTOK is a native Minnesotan, as is evident by both her Midwestern accent and her appreciation of any weather that isn’t attached to the word ‘negative’. She wrote her first book at the tender age of twelve, and after killing off all the main characters in it, she realized that books with happy endings are infinitely preferable to those that leave you with tear-streaked cheeks and empty tissue boxes. Heidi has three precocious children, and has at times been known to hide under her bed from them – not that she’s proud of it. She is the dog owner of a small white dog, named “Whitey”; she’s not real proud of that, either. Heidi has one published novel, “And Along Came Layla”, as well as blog postings on numerous websites, including “Sammiches and Psych Meds”, “The Good Men Project” and “Kveller.” You can contact Heidi at [email protected].