Why I Hate My Roommate’s Pet Dog
- His name (Gizmo). He shares a handful physical traits with the world’s most-famous mogwai, but he’d never have the smarts to fashion a crude bow and arrow from a pencil and a paperclip (see Gremlins 2: the New Batch).
- True to his breed, this long-haired chihuahua has very long hair. It’s split at the ends and always looks dirty, even immediately following a bath. If my roommate fails to shave his haunches regularly, clumps of feces cling to him after he defecates. Throughout the day these brown bits trail behind him, like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs.
- He takes heart medication. Dogs should be hearty beasts, not sissies. When he naps I hear his wheezing from two rooms away, and wonder whether he has asthma. It would not surprise me.
- He likes to guard the front door, ignoring the fact that diminutive size renders him completely ineffectual as a sentry. He weights eight pounds and has the bark of a cricket. This detachment from reality leads me to suspect he’s delusional.
- Though his bowl is always full of vittles that purport to realistically simulate bacon, my roommate’s dog’s favorite snack is feline feces. Sometimes he follows my pet cat to his litter box and watches voyeuristically while he shits. When the cat leaves, he’ll dig into the sand and eat his truffle while it’s still warm. This is disgusting.
- Gizmo is old and slow, and can’t always scurry to avoid human feet. I used to try to adjust my stride so as to not step on him, but often he’d move directly underfoot and get trampled anyway. When stepped on, he makes a pathetic look that tries to convey his sorrow and helplessness. It is a pitiful look.
- He pisses on everything. I shake my head disapprovingly when I find him in the living room wading through a shallow lake of yellow. He knows he’s broken, so he lowers his eyes to avoid my stare of scorn. This only adds to my disdain.
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