In lack of better ideas for a post, I will vent my outrage induced by the canine specimen belonging to the concierge. In all fairness that “thing” should not be dignified by being called a canine, it should be ascribed to a separate species, somewhere between cats and dogs, or better yet, bats and Chihuahuas because IT IS UGLY AS HELL! Come to think of it, it may very well be a Chihuahua, I’m not really sure. It’s one of those puny little dogs, the size of a small kitten or a fat squirrel with a pair of beady eyes and a snout that you just want to smack every time a sound comes out of it.
[Man, typing this already makes me feel better! You have no idea how much that mutt irritates me…]
Call me pretentious, but I only like big dogs, the ones that can pin you to the ground when they happily give you a hug, the ones that can scare away burglars with a snarl, or save people from earthquake ruins. I like dogs that policemen or firemen would not be ashamed to be seen alongside of. I don’t like canines that fit in a purse hanging loosely from Paris Hilton’s spa pampered arm.
Like all creatures who want to compensate their small stature by grandiose gestures, the diva mutt directs its high-pitched bark at everything that moves. It happened many a time that I came home only to find the concierge in her office and the mutt perched on her desk, his ears pricked at the sound of my footsteps. He instantly begins to growl when he sees me and with the agility of a cheetah he jumps from the desk, and dashes toward me, aiming for my ankles. The repulsion is mutual it seems. Luckily so far he is content with snarling and jumping violently like a defective Jack-in-the-box 4 inches away from my feet. We were on hostile but tolerable grounds so far.
This weekend, though, the mutt brought me to the edge of patience. The concierge and her husband were away for the entire day on Saturday and left the dog alone at home. The ordeal started at around 2pm and lasted for 7 hours. The mutt began barking in his usual strangled soprano mode and didn’t stop until 9pm. There’s another apartment between ours and the concierge’s, and we could still hear it. It could exorcise demons, that bark, it was that irritating! We were approaching the edge of insanity and we began devising ways to end the growl of the demon from hell. D thought it might be hungry and proposed to slide some salami under the door like in Seinfeld. But why waste perfectly good salami on such a vile creature? Later on when we were preparing to go grocery shopping D brought forth a very alluring idea “Don’t forget to bring the poison with you!”. Hmmm…
Don’t worry, the mutt still lives. Although very enticing D’s plan couldn’t be put into action mainly because we don’t have any poison in our house. I’ve just added it to my grocery list.