Angus: The Destroyer of All Things Good

My husband has this dog.

I do not know how else to start this post.

He has this dog. His name is Angus. He is a 2-year-old English Bulldog that we’ve had since he was very young. He is an asshole.

He is ridiculously cute. He’s fat. He has wrinkles and saggy brown eyes. But his cuteness does not supersede the fact that he is an asshole.

He has eaten, peed on or humped everything in my home. I am depressed to say myself, my husband and my child fall into the eaten/peed on/humped category.

Angus has completed several obedience training classes. My husband thinks this somehow makes him a better dog. My couch would beg to differ. Also, my child’s stuffed animals, my underwear, my toilet etc.

The dog has eaten an obscene amount of items that would have killed any other dog. I have never heard of a puppy pulling jars of salsa from a shelf, breaking them on the ground and then eating them. Not just the salsa. The jars.

The night I came home from work at 3 am and found that he had eaten three boxes of cookies, I was pretty sure he was going to die. I called the emergency pet hospital and they asked what kind of cookies and when I admitted he had savaged my secret stash of thin mints, they replied, “The deadliest kind.” No joke. It was very dramatic. When I advised them that he had not only eaten every one of those cookies but also the actual boxes and foil they had been wrapped in, I think the little man on the other end of the phone passed out.  $500 later and the dog survived. He barely survived me later that day when we were leaving the pet hospital and he was trying to eat tar in the parking lot.

Shortly after that I spent another late night at the pet hospital when I came home to puddles of blood throughout my home. Apparently because of how fat and wide bulldogs are, they cannot clean their own private areas. Therefore Angus had developed a nasty wiener infection and was peeing blood everywhere. At that time we did not have a crate for him, so I put down some towels and drove him to the hospital in my nice clean truck. 4o minutes later and my truck was a crime scene. I forced my husband to pay for an expensive auto detailer to clean it all up. They almost didn’t. I think the cops were called.

Recently, my husband went out of town and left me with his horrible dog and baby. I’m currently working nights and strain to eat, let alone sleep regularly. My mom, taking pity on me, had picked me up dinner one night and dropped it at the house before I went to work. I warmed my garlic alfredo gnocchi with herb crusted chicken breast (mmmmm) and ducked into the shower for a quick hair wash. Two minutes later I found Angus on top of my dresser eating my warm dinner. It was a blood bath. Alfredo everywhere. My plate completely clean. Silverware on the floor. And a 70-lb bulldog on my dresser, delicately licking the sauce off the mirror.

The dog nearly died. I was hysterical. I nearly shot him right there.

I called my husband screaming. Swearing I was going to get rid of the dog.

I did not. He lives. Barely. And the dog adventures continue.

These stories were leading to some great point…but I forgot…because I’m tired from a week of the in-laws. So instead of wrapping this post up in any clean sort of way, I’ll just attach some pictures and walk away.

Jess. Out.

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P.S.

I had no good reason to make my dogs wear ties. I just did.

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