Quit...

I could eat this with a spoon, I swear I could.

For lack of creative energy today, because it's late, and I am not capable of working 8.5 hours straight (or gay for that matter), I'll just tell you a little about the psychological problems of my dog lately. Kay? So when Hunter came into our lives as an 11 week old French Brittany pup, he was A.DOR.A.BLE. But let's face it, the only puppies that aren't adorable are the ones Brittany and Paris are constantly trying to manipulate into fashionable baggage. I digress. He was very cute and very, very energetic. And. We got him in November, in Pittsburgh of all places. The people of Pittsburgh know what I'm talking about when I say, kill me now if I have to live through another winter in the Steel City, okay slightly exaggerated, but you get my drift (pun intended). Tons of snow and freezing cold winds are not the ideal setting for potty training a stubborn, active dog with ADD. This is not relevant to my story, FYI.

Okay, so we move 6 times in the next year that we have him, not kidding, and I feel like he's adapting quite well to the crap we've put him through. Now he'll be 3 years old in September and for the last month, he has become possessed by some insanely aggressive, Dr. Jekyll-type character who LOVES to eat small dogs. Mainly, the one pictured above, who our great friends Carter and Erica brought over to our house on the 4th of July to "play" with Hunter (The Small-Dog-Eating Lord of the Underworld). I have to admit that a few weeks earlier we got a small clue that something was going on because the Day Care we take him to (yes, we take him to a day care, shut up I don't have kids yet) the Day Care manager Jenny informed me that she had to give him time-outs for playing too rough, aka attacking the living shit, with another dog. But I couldn't really believe her because A. Hunter is precious and B. I know those beady-eyed little dogs at Day Care secretly have it out for the cool kid in class.

Apparently, Jenny was right. Erica and Carter got Henry (pic'd above) a few weeks ago and I am totally obsessed with dogs so I've been begging them to come over forever. Before they arrived Mr. G intentionally ran the daylights out of Hunter at the dog run so that he would be nice and obedient for our 'play date'. When Henry arrived, we took Hunter outside to meet him formally on neutral turf and then once they seemed to be okay with each other, ie the smelling of the butts was over, we brought both inside. Everything was going along swimmingly and Erica and I were chatting on the couch, next to the dog bed that Hunter and Henry were sharing. All of the sudden Hunter freaked out on the pup and pinned him down, barking, and acting like a total freak of nature. Poor Henry howled his little pants off for at least 10 minutes while Mr. G hung Hunter out the window by his eyelids.

I felt like puking my guac and chips up for the next 4 hours. I don't know what the hell is wrong with the canine, but I only get a week a month to be a bitch so his time is up! There isn't room for both of us in this tiny apartment during our 'special time' of the month.