And the award for "Best Blog Title I've Ever Thought Of" goes to...
Looking back, I can see how some of my previous stories about my interactions with dogs would give the impression that I don’t like dogs very much. This isn’t true – I love dogs, broadly speaking. What leads to trouble is the fact that most dogs seem to delight in doing things that upset to me to my very core – pooping indoors, barking like crazy for no reason, eating garbage, eating poop, rolling in poop… Look, the fact of the matter is, if you spend a lot of time seeking out excrement to consume or cover yourself with, we’re just not going to get along – that’s true no matter what species you happen to be.
There are some dogs – the ones who don’t do six disgusting things before breakfast – who I really like for their obedient, good natured, playful demeanor. But there is only one dog that I truly love, moreso perhaps than any other creature I’ve ever met.
That dog is my friend John’s four-year-old homosexual Boston Terrier, Milo.
This update features approximately .01% of all the pictures and videos I've taken of this dog.
You know how every love song takes on a completely new meaning when you’re in love? Well, every Purina commercial I used to scoff at – “Corn!? Chicken!? It’s a dog, for Chrissake, it will eat literally anything!” – suddenly makes sense. A $40 bag of dog food that’s probably more nutritious than anything I’ve eaten this month is an understandable expenditure, provided that the dog that’s going to be eating it is Milo.
Flag on the play! Unnecessary cuteness.
Unlike larger dogs bred for hunting, Milo has no instinctual desire to cloak himself in the scent of other animals, which means that he doesn’t eat or roll in shit. Unlike smaller dogs bred for purses, Milo almost never barks, and is neither super skittish nor afflicted with ‘little dog syndrome.’ He’s just a quiet, well behaved, playful little guy who doesn’t do that many disgusting things and is extremely happy basically all the time.
Except for when he's maintaining a laserlike focus on food.
Milo is proof that it’s possible to be so damn ugly that you come full circle and wind up being adorable. His eyes bulge so much that they actually protrude from his skull, and because of the weird shape of his nasal passages he’s constantly snorting and sneezing, which means that it’s basically impossible for him to sneak up on anything. Sometimes Milo’s nose gets plugged up, which poses a problem because Milo doesn’t seem to understand that he can breathe through his mouth. Whenever it happens he starts wheezing loud enough to rattle the windows, and John has to drop everything to pry his mouth open so he can get a breath.
I probably could have just posted this and skipped writing the blog.
Milo is also gay. I’m not just saying this to be flippant or because I’m exaggerating something for comedic purpose – Milo tries to mount and hump a goodly number of the other male dogs he meets, perhaps because he wants to show the world that being neutered hasn’t slowed him down.
Everybody loves and supports Milo no matter what, but recently he’s proven to be the aggressive, predatory homosexual that Rick Santorum and Michele Bachmann seem to be so scared of.
When one of our friends brought her tiny Chihuahua, Luigi, to John’s Fourth of July party, Milo’s reaction was immediate. His ears perked up, he started sneezing faster, and his eyes bulged so hard that they developed a red tinge around the edges from the strain. You could call it love at first sight, except that it wasn’t – Milo just really wanted to fuck that dog.
Hungry Like The Terrier.
Luigi is tiny and skittish, characteristics that made him completely defenseless against Milo, who is lean and seriously committed. Within three minutes of Luigi arriving at the party we had to pull Milo off of him, Luigi yelping and whimpering, Milo’s face contorted into his wide, crazy grin, eyes burning with lust.
Let that sink in.
We separated them for a few minutes, gave Milo a good scolding, and went back to our revelry for a few minutes until Luigi started yelping again and we had to run back in to pull Milo off of him. This cycle continued for the next eight hours, and at no point did Milo show any sign of growing tired or giving up. He’s like the Terminator of gay dogs.
"It can't be reasoned with! It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear!"
We were all sitting around in the living room as the evening wore down when suddenly Luigi came scampering around the corner, howling and wailing, Milo in hot pursuit and gaining fast. Luigi streaked past all of us, making a beeline for his owner, Julienne. She jumped to her feet and reached out to scoop him up and get him out of Milo’s range.
Luigi leapt forward and Julienne managed to catch him by his front legs. As she hoisted him up into the air, though, Milo jumped as well and wrapped both of his front legs around Luigi’s lower torso, dangling off of him like he was the last chopper out of Saigon, his furious erection on display at eye level for all of the party guests. Once we’d pried the two loose, Julienne decided it would probably be best for Luigi to go home.
You dog, you.
I didn’t know that dogs could wrap their front legs around things. I was fully unaware that dogs’ front legs had the necessary joints to perform that sort of action until I saw Milo doing it, swinging like a pendulum from Luigi’s hindquarters, amorously gagging on his spit all the while.
Really, that sort of surprise is kind of emblematic of my whole relationship with Milo. I didn’t know that dogs could have mood swings. I didn’t know dogs had audible farts. I didn’t know that walking my friend’s dog when he had to stay late at work could be the high point of my day. But then, I met Milo.
The best part is, he’s not my dog. He’s John’s dog. Two days ago John told me he woke up to the sound of Milo throwing up, eating it, and throwing the same stuff up again. It was a disgusting thing that I heard about but didn’t have to see in person or clean up, which is probably why I’m not too bothered by it.
Dramatic zooms make everything better. (Feat. John)
This, I think, is proof that while I like dogs, I’m not currently cut out to own one. Being Milo’s weird uncle, on the other hand, is just the right amount of dog for me.
Truman Capps will lose his shit if he ever meets a human named Milo.