Delta Dog

Let me preface this posting with the following disclaimer. My husband is a stud. Seriously. Former Marine, sniper, calm in all situations, expert sharp shooter, snake eater kind of guy. This story does not do him justice but it is hilarious nonetheless.

So, Hubby and I adopted a Great Dane and a God Knows What from the Humane Society a few years back. Both of them weigh in at over 150 pounds. Yes, each. I know, I know. But we figure we are from Texas and we do everything big.

The Dane, Remy, needs to get neutered. My advice to you: do not neuter a huge-ass, crazy-train, skittish dog. He is less than amused with the whole scene as you can imagine. The vet then puts on the "don't bite your stitches out" collar. For a 150 pound dog. He looks like he is wearing a satellite dish around his head. A military, spying on the Soviets, satellite dish. From the 80s. Before the technology was good. This thing is ginormous. Poor guy can not fit through doorways and is knocking everything over. The crashing does not help his already-shot-to-hell-nerves.

Needless to say (but I will say it), he loathes the collar. He can't sleep in it because, well, it is huge and with a small rainstorm, he would indeed drown. It is so large that his breathing ECHOES in it. Seriously. To express his dislike he drags it along the tiles surrounding the fireplace in our bedroom. We can't toss his ass outside since it is January in Colorado and he has like 1% body fat and short hair. We can't let him roam the house since he is destruction in fur with this medieval device on. So for two nights, I can't sleep because of the wretched sound. Hubby can sleep through anything (including a rocket attack in Afghanistan).

So night three I have the brilliant idea: let him sleep in our bed and he will stop the horrifying tile scraping and we can all get some rest. "Joy, you are a genius." I move Big 'Un into our bed. Well, the second dog will have none of this. They are, clearly, a package deal. Fine, fine. Now Hubby, me and 300 pounds of beast are all in our bed. It is a tight fit but everyone is quiet so I am feeling quite victorious and, once again, complimenting myself on my genius.

I get up to get some water (dog hair in your throat will do that). When I come back, the pack has rearranged itself and there is no room at the inn for me. Once again, brilliance strikes. I decide to sleep on the dog bed my own self. It is cushy, in front of the fireplace and, hell, if it keeps everyone quiet, what's the harm?

I am half asleep when Hubby gets up to go to the bathroom. As is his custom every night at 4am, he leans over pets whatever is on the dog bed and says "hey, big dog."

This time, a human voice answers saying "You know it's me, right?"

Half-asleep Studmuffin Husband leaps in the air shouting "Holy shit, a talking dog!!!"

I think I actually wet my pants laughing.