The dog that just won't die......

Just a warning….if you’re a psycho animal rights activist person, you probably should not read this next blog post because it is slightly morbid. And also I would like to express that these are only the opinions of yours truly and does not in any way reflect the views of my household. And I take full responsibility for any hell that may break loose as a result of my grandparents ever finding this. However if you do report this to them….I know where you live. That is all.

My grandpa and my step-grandma have a dog.

Big deal right?

 Actually yes, it is a big deal.

This dog has tormented me since I was a mere toddler, ankle biting and growling at me for as long as I can remember. Every time I would try to go sit on my grandpa’s lap, she would try to eat me. Whenever I’d sneak through the hallway, there was my grandparents’ insane poodle “Jolly”, chasing after me with her gaping mouth full of needle sharp teeth, and beady menacing black eyes as cold as the South Pole itself. Every once in a while, my step-grandma would force me to pet “Jolly” and I would usually end up getting bitten. Personally I think my grandparents were just trying to kill me off.

Just kidding…..that is, about my grandparents trying to kill me.

However, they DO love the dog more than they love me. And don’t tell me that they don’t because they do, and it’s disgusting.

Speaking of disgusting, “Jolly” is now somewhere between 13 and 1300 years old. She’s blind. Mean. Diabetic. Mean. Can hardly walk. Mean. Stupid. Mean. Ugly. Mean. And a few other words I’m not allowed to say. Oh, and mean.

So anyways, the reason that I’m writing about all this is not just because I’m fed up with this decrepit ogre, but because the thing’s life is drawing to an end. Not because I’m going to kill her, although I have considered accidentally tripping her on the way down the stairs…or letting her feast on a nice big bowl of raisins. Or feigning brake failure when she ran out to attack me as I pull into the driveway. But alas, I could never bring myself to do it.

A few days ago though, my mother went over to my grandparents’, and informed me that Jolly was ALMOST (soooo stinkin’ close) put down, but as soon as the executioner got there…..she perked back up again.

*bangs head on keyboard*

Sad day.

My mom also told me that when the spawn of Satan (this is not what my mother called her, but rather what I refer to her as); dies….we have to go bury her because my grandfather is currently having shoulder pain.

Not happening.

I sighed long and hard and looked at my mumma and thought, ‘there is no way in heaven or hell or anywhere in between that I am going to that demon’s burial service.’ Then I told mom that I would burst out laughing in glee and pure happiness and that would make the G-parents cry, and goodness knows I wouldn’t want that. So, I don’t have to go. Praise be to God.

So now that Jolly’s existence is almost to a close, I’ve started thinking about what kind of cake I’m going to make to celebrate her life’s end. I was thinking a nice coffee cake would do the job quite nicely. Maybe I’ll even take some to grandpa, he loves it when I bake him stuff.

Now, before I end this grotesquely discourteous post, I must admit that I’m feeling much better now that I got all this out in the open. It feels good to finally get all this enmity out of me. However, on the flip side, I think I should be feeling some sort of despondency for talking about an animal this way. Save for, I can’t help but feel like, maybe God didn’t create this beast…..I mean, I really think that Jolly is like, one of hell’s furies or something. Or maybe she’s the devil himself. Who knows, but I’ll still sleep better knowing she’s underground. Hopefully grandpa and grandma will have better luck with their next creature.