dog days, it turns out, are not actually over
Everyone say "Hi, Max!"
Max is my spirit animal. The universe, in whatever infinite wisdom goes into it, believes I should spend a large portion of my day asleep, posing in a fashion that results in getting belly rubs, and licking my privates. The more I think about it, the more I believe the universe is pretty spot on!
In addition to his spirit animal duties, Max is also our new family dog. Hooray!
We adopted Max last Tuesday, and he officially made himself at home here Wednesday evening by christening the corner of our living room steps like the Queen launching a ship. We've been told he's a terrier mix. Based on the way he jumped completely out of his collar and leash and sprinted half a block faster than I could blink my eyes when an unleashed dog aggressively greeted us on the last of our three hour-long walks Thursday (apparently the universe wants me to go on some type of quest), the mixed portion of him is Kobe Bryant or gazelle. I imagine we're going to have to look into the city's ordinances for exotic animals now.
When we chose Max, his name was Mason, which humane society volunteers had shortened to Mace. Look at him. Does he look like a Mason to you? Does he look like he'd tolerate being referred to as Mason Dixon or The Grand Poobah? Because that's what I'd undoubtedly have started calling him if we'd kept that name, and I've got to admit, I was pretty close to selling the kids on The Grand Poobah since, well, there's going to be a lot more pooh happening around here now.
In the end (unintentional pooh joke FTW!), we opted to rename our pet, and the boys quickly chose Max, which means instead of The Grand Poobah, I've referred to him as one of the following every day since:
- Maxwell Smart
- Maxwell's Silver Hammer
- The Maxtrix
- Maximum Overdrive
- Maxi Priest
- Maxi-Pad (I apologized)(it's been hard to stop, though)
- Mad Max
- Frankie Say Remax
- Tone Loc
Speaking of poop (again)(forever and always), in the five days we've now owned Max, I've yet to see him do his doody duty. My children assure me he's achieved maximum output (adding it to the list!), but like I told my pal Twobusy, I like to look at this function as if it was a ghost. I hear about ghosts from time to time, but I haven't personally seen one, and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Especially if it's a ghost and/or pooh that tries to kill me or steal my soul. I think the neighbor's giant barking dog is that kind of pooper.
My spirit animal is pretty rad. He's housebroken, curls up and sleeps through the night on the couch, rarely barks, kennels nicely when necessary, walks great on a leash, and, as we've ascertained earlier, doesn't poop in front of me. I couldn't take one of the many hairs he's shed all over my beautiful red narcolepsy chair (that's a pretty funny post so what are you doing here when you could be following that link and reading that one?), clone him and end up with a better dog. He's maximum pleasure with minimum effort. He's like everything I'd want in a husband if he were human!
The universe wishes for me to go squeak a toy now, so you'll have to excuse me. How cool is that? I imagine it must really suck if your spirit animal is an otter.