Meet Sam. Sam is a six pound Brussel Griffon that I adopted as a spare to keep the dog I like company.
Not considering myself an animal lover...well I am not really a lover of anything that isn't fattening or clothing optional afterall............ I was surprised when I grew attached to the little Affenpinscher I bought last year. I think I grew attached to it simply because it grew attached to me and either I got used to him following me around all the time or punted him across the house against the wall.
Lucky for him, I choose the former.
Max was bought to replace a bitch beagle mix that lived up to her name. Fucking thing took a hunk of thigh out of a neighbor as a late night snack.
At that time, we also had a poodle mix, Cassie, that was also a big pain in the ass but because since it was too small to do any real damage to the neighbors, I allowed my kids to keep her.
So two little dogs hanging out together while I worked, having puppy parties and living it up.
Except that technically the poodle was SCMs dog. After his step father died, his mother was lonely and asked if she could take Cassie to live with her.
I didn't give a shit, I never liked that little bitch either.
Apparently, Max the Affen did though and mopped around in loneliness for days and days.
Believe me, the fucking Dog Whisperer was out of the question but even hearts of stone sometimes get a chip in them.
So, in comes Sam.
Sam the spare dog to play with Max the real dog.
Sam is a pretty good sort. Came pretty much house broken, likes to be held and scratched, doesn't eat too much...etc.
So is this a post to introduce the world to my cute little puppy?
Geez, you guys know me better than that by now.
No, this is a post about a little dog that has the WORST gas of any person or beast I have ever encountered in my forty something years.
And I had an Uncle from the old country that could fart the star spangled banner in two keys.
This thing, though,....this thing is a walking fart machine and holy shit does these farts reek!
His old owner was feeding him pretty cheap food so I thought once I got him on some better stuff, his gas should subside a bit.
I now am convinced one of my loving children are feeding the fucking thing broccoli when I am not looking.
My house smells like a porta potty during a heat wave at a country fair.
That serves fried Twinkies.
And Turkey Legs.
The good news is I no longer wonder where little Sammy is. I look for my family members and go to the place in the house that is furthest away geographically.
Max has even taken to avoiding Sam as if saying..."Dude, can't you do something about that? Have some fucking mercy."
So we are renaming him Stinky and have resigned never to take him to the dog park.
We don't want all the other dogs to make fun of him.
That's our job.