My dog, Gavin, and I both consider ourselves masters or the mordant rejoinder. Gavin’s wit is legendary in my household and he never turns down an opportunity for an intellectual game of the dozens. Although I consider my vocabulary to be better than his, it’s hard to beat the postural equivalent of “Opposable thumbs do not a genius make!”
Our bouts of witticism are often waged on uneven ground. For instance, Gavin is fond of getting under my feet when I’m in a pre-caffeinated state. The resulting spate of stumbling, mumbling, cursing, and tumbling seem to bring a smile to his face as he strikes a body posture and expression that unmistakably says “Your elocution is matched only by your gracefulness.”
I normally wait until I’ve had a least my third cup of coffee before I try any retort, preferring a sharp slope to a dull quip. I’ve often threatened to change his food from dry to canned and forget how to use my opposable digits. But then he reminds me that there’s more than one biped in the house and she is very pliable, especially when confronted with the sad face.
My revenge often comes in the form of a bath. There is nothing quite as satisfying as seeing an Aussies face when he is soaking wet. With all the air removed from his coat, he looks like a giant bobble head doll with a pissy expression. I piss him off even more by laughing as he retaliates by giving me a shake shower. I know there is nothing quite as infuriating as laughing at someone who is intentionally trying to piss you off.
And then of course there’s the ritual of being toweled off. It’s hard to claim your dignity being when your head is twisted upside down with your ass high in the air, barking mad with that Jack Nicholson “Here’s Johnny” look on your face.
Of course I know that retribution will be coming with devious doggy determination, but at least I have my memories.