My Worthless Dog

I announced, a few nights ago, to my wife -- quite emphatically and (possibly) dramatically -- that our dog is, in every practical sense, a completely useless member of our household. She fits not one of the typically advantageous dog-profiles.

She leaves crumbs -- sometimes even whole potato chips -- on the kitchen floor. I have never known a dog to do this. I grew up with a with a lovely mutt (may Foffy rest in peace) who never would have allowed such a thing. Popcorn snacks, while watching TV, were no inconvenience to my mother and father, even with a shag rug in our family room. No dropped piece of white, corny goodness lay upon or among the yarnish flagella of the rug for long. Foffy was on the job. The nose knew, and it conquered. Not my present dog -- not Krimpet. She seems to have no interest in dropped cheese doodles. Either that, or she is so monumentally stupid, that she can't make distinctions between a fallen Lego and a forgotten chunk of pretzel and, thus, gave up on taxing her tennis ball sized brain with such grueling decision-making processes.

Krimpet: Portrait of Worthlessness

How is she as a watch dog, you ask? A tremendous failure. She barks like a rabid devil-wolf when the neighbor (who pets and plays with her on a regular basis) puts out his trash. But if a large man in a ninja suit, carrying a blood-dripping ax in one hand and someone's severed arm in the other, were to stand at the window, breathing through his teeth, she'd likely glance over her shoulder, walk around in a few lazy circles, and cuddle up for a nap with one of my old shoes.

In a thunder storm, does she climb in bed with my boys for her own solace and for theirs? No -- even when encouraged, she will not do this. Instead, she puts her front half up on my bed and shivers powerfully, causing me to dream of seedy motels with blinking red signs. Either that, or she goes off into my studio room and hides behind the workstation, tunneling into an old comforter I use for a "bass trap" -- transforming it instantly into a "cretin trap."


Now it is mice. We have mice -- or a mouse. (A mouse who remodeled our dishwasher with his teeth -- turned it into a lovely waterfall machine that might have been a posh addition to someone's rock garden but that doesn't work so well when pouring a silvery cascade onto kitchen tiles.) You have a dog, you are not supposed to have mice. The mere presence of a dog in the house is supposed to create terror in the local rodent community. ("Hey, Jibbers [squeeksqueek] -- don't go to that house. Big dog. Pointy teeth." "[Squeeksqueek] Thanks for the tip, Bixby. We'll hit the next house. There's just a fat guy there.") Never, with any other dog, have I experienced a problem with mice.

With the fearless Krimpet on duty, from midnight to six in the morning it's a mouse stag party in our living room, complete with a tiny conga line, a little mouse band and vodka-soaked wedges of cheddar for all. Where is my dog during the rodent rave? Curled up blissfully at the foot of our bed, dreaming of...hell...I have no idea! With any other dog, I'd paint a gauzy picture of open fields and slow cats, but, who knows, with her?

My daily wake-up greeting.

Worthless. I mean, she looks at me with the deepest love in her eyes and sleeps contentedly with her head on my chest while I read or watch TV. And she does give me the intense and unconditional love that I could get nowhere else. And, okay, she forgives my angry outbursts and never, ever holds a grudge. Sure, she is a model of carpe diem and of perfect, Taoist inner peace; her mere presence makes me feel at peace and some say that presence in my life will likely lengthen it -- "so I got that going for me." Yeah, yeah, she brings my children joy. I'll grant you, as well, that her cuteness warms my heart when it feels frozen up by an arctic world of greed, petty squabbling and selfishness. And, okay, she literally assures that the very first thing I do each day is smile, when she comes to my bedside as the alarm goes off and greets me. Sure -- she does that stuff.

Other than that, though, she contributes absolutely nothing to the household.